


Ghosts That We Knew

by lemon_drizzle_cake



Series: Ghosts [1]
Category: Degrassi, Degrassi: Next Class
Genre: Family, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_drizzle_cake/pseuds/lemon_drizzle_cake
Summary: Future fic. Miles would cross oceans for the twins, everyone knows that. An unexpected call in the middle of the night is the start of the most intense and emotionally draining two weeks in living memory.OR: when Frankie finds herself in a bad situation, her brothers will be there to help her put the pieces back together.
Relationships: Frankie Hollingsworth & Hunter Hollingsworth & Miles Hollingsworth III, Frankie Hollingsworth & Miles Hollingsworth III, Hunter Hollingsworth & Miles Hollingsworth III
Series: Ghosts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886299
Comments: 31
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Future fic, set three years after Next Class 4. Miles is now a Final Year student at the London Academy for the Arts, and the twins are attending their sophomore year at university.
> 
> CW: This story deals with (the aftermath of) domestic violence. There won't be anything too graphic, but if it's something that makes you uncomfortable, please approach this fiction with care.

The room is dark, and quiet. Some artificial-looking light from a street lamp filters feebly through the blinds, casting soft shadows over the hardwood floor and illuminating a small pile of crumpled clothes stashed in a corner of the otherwise tidy space. Once in a while, the perfect silence is broken by the soft swoosh of a car outside the window, just a moment before it’s gone. Even London is asleep at such an ungodly hour of the night.

Miles Hollingsworth is fast asleep, sprawled like a starfish underneath a thick duvet cover. He stayed up late, last night, half studying and half procrastinating. His laptop lies abandoned on the floor at the foot of the side table, hidden by a pile of handwritten notes on this week readings and a soft-cover edition of a book — one which is not even on his reading list at all. 

The sudden noise of his phone vibrating against the hard surface of the bedside table resonates in the silence of the room. Miles stirs awake, startled. It takes him a few moments to open his eyes, to find his bearings again, recognise the familiar shapes of his room, mere shadows in the feeble light coming from the phone screen. Slightly disoriented, Miles turns towards the digital alarm clock at his side. It’s 3:04 a.m., according to its blinking light. He sighs loudly, a hand running over his tired face as he rolls back. His drowsy mind then registers that the phone has stopped buzzing, in the meanwhile. Great. Just  _ great _ . 

Miles lets his body sink deep into the pillows, ready to fall back into numbness in seconds, but then the phone goes off again — the noise startling him once more, so loud in the quiet calm of the night. He groans at the unwelcome interruption, swearing under his breath, and flings around an uncoordinated arm to shut the device into night mode. In the process, his eyes catch a glimpse of the screen, just a second, but it’s enough to see who’s calling. And  _ crap _ — that’s not a good sign. Miles quickly swipes his numb fingers over the answer button and nervously pushes the phone against his ear.

“What… Hunter?!” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

Miles can barely make out an indistinct frenzy at the other end of the line. He can probably count on one hand the times Hunter has called him in his life, though, so this must be bad. His brother starts vomiting a flow of urgent words, and Miles's head gets dizzy, spinning uncomfortably.

“It’s the middle of the night here, Hunter, what the-” 

_ It’s Frankie. _

Hunter’s words silence him, a sense of dread grabbing the pit of Miles’s stomach. Hunter starts rushing once again through the details, and the feeling only exacerbates as Miles grasps the meaning of what his brother is saying. This… can’t be happening. He springs up on his bed without even realising it, phone glued to his ear.

“Max did  _ what _ ?!”

Miles can feel his blood draining from his face and a cold sweat covering his suddenly overheated skin, heart racing in his chest as his brain goes blank, his head dizzy. 

“What the hell happened?! Is she okay?”

_ The hell you think?! _ Hunter’s voice comes back harshly at him. Fair enough, it was an idiotic question. Miles shivers, a pang of white-hot anger grabbing his insides and twisting till there’s nothing left in place, there can’t be. The thought of his sister, so small… and her boyfriend, a grown man… he can’t think about it, or he’s going to be sick.

Miles’s mind somehow registers that Hunter’s still talking, but he can barely make up his words. He hears him apologizing for snapping at him, and he wants to tell him it’s okay, but he  _ can’t _ . He can feel his thoughts slipping away as he starts hyperventilating. He‘s spiralling down, down to that dark part of his mind where anxiety resides, ready to engulf everything else. With a humongous effort, he forces himself to resurface from his tangled thoughts until he’s back in his room, on the phone with his brother.

“I’m getting the first flight,” he says, out of breath, “I’ll text you when I arrive. Keep her safe!” 

Miles hangs up, his hands shaking. He’s surrounded once again by the quiet stillness of the night, only this time it screeches so loudly against his inner state that it makes him nauseous. He presses his fingers on his temples to try and ease the wreck that’s happening inside his head, to no avail. He’s so exhausted he could cry, and yet he knows he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep even if he tried. In truth, closing his eyes and lying down is pretty much the last thing he needs right now. What he needs is to get moving.

In a burst of energy, Miles kicks the sheets to the side and sits up on the edge of the bed, quickly scanning the room. His head is spinning, and Miles forces himself to take a deep breath and compile an orderly mental list of all the things that need doing. Pack a bag; book a flight; send an email to his Programme Director at school, informing of his absence; take a shower; have a bite to eat — or at least some coffee; keep breathing. 

He decides to start from the shower. It seems like a reasonable choice.

He’s back in his bedroom within ten minutes, washed and dressed and feeling a little steadier. He can’t stop, he needs to keep moving, or he’ll collapse. So he fishes his laptop from the spot on the floor where he left it a mere few hours ago and moves to the kitchen. He takes a seat at the breakfast bar and opens the browser to start looking for a flight, only to quickly pause to get up and make coffee. He needs coffee.

He spaces out a little as he leans over the kitchen counter, his head filled with the bubbly sound of the water coming to a boil, fresh coffee filtering through and slowly filling up the glass pot, drop by drop. The familiar ritual of reaching for a mug and pouring the hot black liquid feels strangely reassuring, and Miles holds on to it as he mechanically adds a splash of cold milk and half a teaspoon of sugar, just like every other morning. Mug in hand, Miles moves back to his stool, where his unfinished search awaits for him. He chucks down a couple of gulps of the hot beverage, nearly burning his throat in the process.  _ Come on, Miles, breathe. _ Time to focus.

Miles’s not exactly a novice at booking flights. Moving to a different continent will do that to you, he assumes, yet he’s never had to purchase a same-day ticket back to Canada before. There are seats still available on the 8:30 a.m. departure from Heathrow, landing in Toronto at 11:15 a.m. local time. Which is good, morning is good. He’ll be there soon, he’ll  _ see _ her soon. His eyes flicker to the time on the screen — it’s nearly a quarter to four. He has roughly an hour and a half before he needs to set off, if he calls a taxi to the airport. Without a second thought, Miles clicks on the ‘book now’ button and starts filling in his credit card details. 

There are very few instances in his everyday life when Miles finds himself grateful (like,  _ really _ grateful) that money is never an issue he has to worry about. This is one of those instances, he thinks, as he casually drops almost a grand on a one-way flight home without blinking an eye. His heart rate finally seems to slow down, as if his body had managed to find a human pace once again now that this one big task is sorted. Miles gives himself a moment to finish his coffee — lukewarm, by now — and then he gets going.

The following hour flies by in a blur. Miles moves in a dream-like state around his one-bedroom flat, automatically picking up clothes and other essentials and stuffing them into his bag. He pours himself another cup of coffee and forces half a slice of toast down his throat with it. He puts a reminder in his phone to call the housekeeper tomorrow to come over and sort things out while he’s away. He even starts drafting some bullshit formal email about a ‘family emergency’ and ‘missing classes’ to send to school, but eventually he runs out of time, and his taxi is already waiting downstairs. 

With one last look around he grabs his luggage, switches off the lights, and locks the front door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Thanks for stopping by. I hope I've got you hooked, and that you're curious to find out what happened and what will happen next once Miles gets back to Canada. Who is Max? What did he do to Frankie? 
> 
> This story has already been posted on FF.net in its (almost) entirety. I'm new to posting here and I'm not sure how much crossover there is between the sites. Either way, it's all written and I'll be publishing updates quite quickly.
> 
> Quick little background info that will come up later in the story but might not be mentioned super clearly. In this fic, Hunter is a student at Queen's University in Kingston, while Frankie goes to McGill, in Montreal. The fic is named after the song of the same title by Mumford & Sons.
> 
> See you next chapter :)


	2. Wednesday

__ So lead me back  
_ Turn south from that place  
_ __ And close my eyes from my recent disgrace

(Mumford & Sons - Ghosts That We Knew)

…

The flight is an absolute nightmare. Miles tries and fails to sleep at least a couple of the eight hours he’s stuck on the plane, but his overactive mind is not of the same idea, and it keeps entertaining him with horrible images that he wishes he knew how to stop. He starts a movie at some point, desperate for a distraction, but gives up after twenty minutes when he realises he hasn’t picked up any of the plot or characters yet; he takes out his notebook, doodles and scribbles a little, drives the next-seat passenger crazy with the nervous tapping of his pen and forces himself to stop before causing a murder; he tries a book, has no luck with it either, gives up, bites his nails raw without even noticing.

It’s way too bright, as he walks through customs and towards the baggage hall. It’s half past noon in Toronto by the time he makes it into the train terminal, his eyes squinting in the bright light and the jet-lag already settling in. It takes another three hours to get to Kingston, and Miles has no better luck at distracting his restless mind on the train than he had on the plane. By the time he finally gets on a taxi to Queen’s University his heartbeat is racing fast, the hours of growing anticipation building up all too familiar feelings of crippling, paralysing anxiety. 

He has Hunter’s directions scribbled down on a crumpled piece of paper, and he silently thanks his brother’s meticulous mind as he easily spots the right building. There’s a small group of people outside the entrance, two guys and a girl. ‘Visiting my brother’ is apparently a good enough excuse, and they graciously open the door for him. Three flights of stairs, his legs are moving without his conscious input by now. He knocks on the right door, then pushes it open without waiting for an answer.

He registers Hunter’s presence at his desk, but Miles’s attention is immediately drawn to Frankie, sitting crossed-legged on the single bed, her back against the wall. She’s wearing one of their brother’s t-shirts, straight from his collection of obscure metal bands memorabilia, and her tiny frame is completely swallowed by the old, faded black fabric. She looks so much like the child she once was, with no makeup on, her hair undone, that Miles is almost startled by it. She turns mechanically towards the door at the sound of it closing, and finally he sees it: the shadow of a bruise under her right eye. It’s nothing too crazy – he’s feared far worse, in all these restless hours spent worrying – but it’s still visible. It hits him so hard he almost chokes.

As her eyes focus on him, wide and puzzled, Frankie turns immediately back towards Hunter.

“You called him?!” she asks, incredulous.

“Of course he called me!” Miles cuts her off, dropping his bag by the door and darting towards her. He sits on the edge of the bed and leans in to wrap his arms around her.

“God, Franks! I’m so sorry!”

She resists him at first, her body stiffening at the contact. Soon, though, Frankie’s tiny arms find their way around his waist, and her head leans timidly towards his chest. It’s no more than a fleeting moment, Miles squeezes her tightly against him, and she suddenly bursts into tears at his touch.

…

Later that night, after Frankie is finally asleep,Hunter places a hand on his shoulder and guides him gently outside of the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

“You okay?” he asks, in that Hunter way he has, piercing blue eyes looking at him as if he were reading into Miles’s soul.

Miles is not remotely okay, and that’s without even factoring in that he’s been awake for twenty-three hours straight, by now – and going on maybe three hours of sleep before that. He’s feeling all over the place, anger, and panic, and fury, and – beneath it all – pure exhaustion.

“We… gee, Hunter… we should take a picture of her face, shouldn’t we?” It feels so unnatural to think of practicalities, right now, to even consider, but if they don’t, who will? “Just in case she ever wants to press charges against him, we should make sure there’s proof, or-“

“I’ve already done that,” Hunter reassures him, interrupting his frenzy.

Miles blinks a few times, disoriented. “You did?”

“Last night, as soon as she fell asleep.”

It’s a reflex, an instinctive impulse; Miles hugs Hunter tight, holds on to him as if his life depended on it. Hunter’s slightly taken aback, but then responds with his usual hesitation to anything affectionate, a hand patting quietly on the back of Miles’s shoulder.

As they pull back, Miles lets himself slide against the wall and crouches down on the hall floor, elbows on his knees, his fingertips pressed on his brow bone in a vain attempt at curbing his headache.

“Thank you for calling me, Hunter. I needed to be here.”

It’s a hassle to talk, words requiring more energy to come out than Miles thinks he has at the moment, but this needed to be said.

“Of course,” Hunter says, quietly joining him on the floor.

Neither of them knows how much time passes while they sit there, in the middle of the hall, so close to each other that they’re literally touching. Miles’s never been more grateful to have a brother in his life.


	3. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm planning to give voice to Frankie and let her explain in her own words what happened to her. This is just not that chapter, yet. Bear with me a little longer.
> 
> Enjoy!

Miles wakes up at 5:40 a.m. with the feeling of having way overslept, before he realises it’s still dark outside. Hunter’s asleep right next to him, lying somewhat rigidly on his side facing the opposite way, and Miles tries his best not to disturb him as he gets up and stretches his aching back. The inflatable mattress they shared has lost almost half of its volume overnight under their combined weight, to the point that they might as well have slept on the floor and it wouldn’t feel any different. Still, he can’t complain, given he and Hunter both insisted Frankie took the bed despite her protests. They’re young, anyway; sleeping on the floor for a few nights won’t kill them. Careful, Miles moves around the small room as quietly as he can. He quickly collects a clean change of clothes from his bag, reaches into Hunter’s wardrobe to borrow some body wash, and makes an exit for the showers. 

Fifteen minutes later, his hair still damp, Miles wanders into the empty common room on Hunter’s floor. It’s still dark, at this hour, but he doesn’t switch the lights on. It’s crazy to think that a mere thirty hours ago he was in his flat in London, and now he’s here, crashing in his brother’s dorms. Hunter’s room is already quite small for one person, with three it’s just madness — siblings or not — and Miles feels like he needs a breather, some quiet time to himself. He puts on the kettle to make a cup of tea, and as he waits for the water to boil he moves over to the window. 

The sky is quickly turning brighter as the winter sun slowly approaches the horizon and the dim light softly brushes over the campus buildings. On the ground, the lamp posts still flicker, casting shadows on the footpaths, and in the distance Miles can make out the silhouette of a few occasional students walking by — probably just now coming back from a night out. How different would his life be, had he never left for London. Quite different, for sure. Better or worse, he can’t really say.

...

By the time he gets back in the room, Hunter is up. He’s already pushed the air-mattress back underneath the bed, making some space to move around, and he’s busying himself very quietly getting ready.

“Morning,” he says in a hushed whisper, “Have you slept at all? You were up early.”

Miles shrugs. “Jet-lag. It’s, like, noon in London, so…”

“Sucks,” Hunter nods. It makes Miles smile.

“Yeah. Just _lovely_.”

Hunter grins back, then glances over to Frankie almost mechanically. He looks at her for a mere second, just enough to check on her, and then he’s back to packing his stuff. 

He’s missed Hunter, Miles finds himself thinking. He’s missed them both, having them around, their little familiar gestures. No matter how much they try, they never get to spend enough time together. Especially since he moved across the ocean, and now the twins are off to university and have their own lives, all scattered. It sucks that it took something like this to bring them back together. 

“Are you setting off?” asks Miles. Hunter’s line of sight is once again directed towards Frankie’s sleeping figure, like he can’t stop checking on her every few seconds, but he focuses back on Miles at his question.

“Yeah… I have an 8:00 a.m. unfortunately, and I was hoping to grab some breakfast before that. You guys cool staying here? I can bring you something from the caf if I run.”

“Nah, we’ll be fine, don’t sweat it.”

“You sure?”

Miles nods back, reassuring.

“Alright. There’s some food in the kitchen, Frankie knows which cupboard is mine. In case, you know,” he motions towards their sister as an explanation. “Yesterday she didn’t want to leave the room at all.”

Miles nods in understanding, and Hunter sighs, apologetic. “I have to go to this one, but I can skip the afternoon classes and get back early.”

“Just go, don’t stress about us. I’m here for this, right?”

Hunter looks him straight in the eyes, just like last night. He breathes out slowly, his shoulders slumping down a little. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll probably come back anyway, this whole thing is not very conducive to schoolwork.” _Tell me about it._ “But I’m glad you’re here, seriously. And she is, too.” An awkward pause follows, but it’s only a second. A quick exchange of meaningful looks, then Hunter slings his bag over his shoulder. “Right, I’m off. See you later!”

As soon as the door closes gently behind him, Miles drops down on Hunter’s desk chair. He turns to Frankie (maybe it’s not just Hunter, with the automatic reflex) and he’s surprised to see that all the hustle didn’t wake her up. Miles finds himself staring at his sister, almost transfixed; she looks so young, buried underneath the duvet, her face all puffy from sleep and her hair tangled in all directions on the pillow. He feels a punch in the stomach as he wonders how on earth anyone could even think to hurt someone like her, someone so small, and gentle, and kind. 

The thing is, Miles has met Max before, once — last Summer, when they were all back home for the holidays and Frankie brought him along to meet the family. Maxence Lafontaine, what a pretentious ass name _._ Miles remembers venting to Hunter about it as they were waiting for the two of them to arrive. Hunter obviously responded with a raised eyebrow, pointing out how that was a bit rich, coming from _Miles Hollingsworth the Third_ , and they simply laughed about it after that. 

Miles ended up liking the bloke, once Frankie and Max finally arrived. He seemed very confident, a bit cocky, maybe — in that upper-class way of people used to getting what they want; Miles used to be like that too, after all, not so long ago. Max was nice, though. Charming, smart. He was quite overprotective of Frankie, in a very gallant sort of way, and Miles remembers thinking he would have probably found it a little overbearing if he were in her shoes, but Frankie seemed happy. Max clearly adored her, and from what he said it appeared his family was completely smitten with her, too. They were going serious, they’d been dating for about five months at the time and were already planning on moving in together after the summer. A bit rushed, maybe, but Max had just graduated, got a good job in Montreal and a nice apartment close to campus. It made sense. 

In hindsight, maybe Miles should have warned her to be cautious, to wait a little longer before committing to such a big step. But at the time he didn’t read too much into it.

Hunter never liked Max. Miles suddenly recalls how his brother took him to the side, after that first lunch at their mum’s, and confessed he had a bad feeling about the guy, like something wasn’t quite right. Miles laughed it off, thought it was just Hunter going all macho-twin over their sister; told him Frankie was an adult woman, she could very well choose with whom to spend her time. 

Perhaps, Miles should have remembered how Hunter seemed to always be better attuned to Frankie than he was, he shouldn’t have brushed it off so quickly. But again, it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. 

Hunter reached out again, later in the year, around November or something, and told him that Frankie was being weird, very elusive. He mentioned something about her cancelling at the last minute some plans they’d made together, and once again Miles just dismissed it, told him to let her live her life, to stop acting all possessive. Then at Christmas they barely saw her, talking about elusive; she arrived on the Eve and left again on Boxing Day to spend the rest of the Holidays with the Lafontaines. 

Still, Miles didn’t worry about it. Maybe he should have.

He wonders now if they could have prevented any of this. Maybe if he’d been around, or if he’d just listened to Hunter’s concerns, maybe they could have done something, said something. Protected her. But, maybe Frankie wouldn’t have listened, or would have dismissed their worries like Miles had done with Hunter’s.

Sometimes we have to hit rock-bottom before we can start resurfacing, Miles knows this first hand. And sometimes, despite our best intentions, there’s nothing we can do to protect ourselves, or the ones we love. No matter how much it hurts.


	4. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is THE chapter. It's the longest in the whole story, and it hopefully does a half-decent job at explaining what the heck's been going on.
> 
> CW Mentions of domestic violence and abuse.
> 
> Enjoy!

Frankie and Miles are wandering around the City Park just neighbouring Queen’s with a cup of hot coffee in their hands. The warmth radiating from the steaming liquid feels pleasant on their fingers against the chilly February air. It’s still proper winter in Kingston, snow covering the ground at either side of the paths. It’s not a particularly sunny day either, and everything around them looks kind of monochrome — white all over. It’s beautiful, in its own way.

Hunter has classes all morning, and it’s the first time the two of them have dared to venture outside to explore the coffee options on campus. Yesterday they wound up spending all day in Hunter’s room, Frankie adamant she didn’t want to see anyone or be seen, and now they feel like if they stayed inside that shoe-box for five more minutes they’d probably start eating each other’s heads off. So they’re out. 

They walk down the paths till they reach a little clearing with a few wooden benches. It’s quiet, and secluded, and it seems like a good spot for them to stop and enjoy the fresh air without having to run into anyone.

They take a seat on one of the benches and for long minutes they just sit in silence, occasionally sipping from their coffees. Miles keeps sending sideways glares at his sister, testing the waters. They haven’t really talked much in the past few days, and Miles has been biting his tongue to stop himself from asking her any of the million questions he has. He’d rather just leave her space, and time, and wait till she’s ready to talk. The last thing he wants is to force her to do anything.

Frankie shivers in the freezing cold morning air, and she pulls her legs up on the bench in an attempt to keep warm. Miles takes off his scarf and wraps it around her neck, on top of hers.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Don’t mention it.”

She leans back against the seat of the bench, her eyes wandering to the frozen nature in front of them.

“I... uhm,” she starts, and Miles sits up a bit straighter as he picks up on the tone in her voice. “I guess I should talk to him at some point… right?” Frankie asks, tentatively.

Miles doesn’t answer straight away. Truth is, this is not exactly what he was hoping she would say. Yet, it doesn’t escape him that it is the first time she mentions Max at all since Miles got here two days ago. And this is huge. So he just asks, “Why, has he tried contacting you?” 

The mere idea makes him feel sick. He doesn't want her anywhere near him, not ever, not even on the phone. 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she says, “I switched off my phone after I got here, and I haven’t turned it back on since.”

Miles nods at her, somewhat relieved to learn that. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Frankie on her phone at all yesterday, which is… just not like her. It makes sense, now.

“Well, you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to. Ever. You don’t owe him anything, Frankie.”

Frankie looks at him for the briefest moment before returning her gaze to the cup of coffee she’s nursing in her hands. She doesn’t sip from it, though, just takes a deep breath. 

“It’s just… I don’t know. I think I need to clear my mind before calling him, realise where we stand.”

Her last words register weirdly with Miles and he sends her a suspicious look. “You dumped his abusive ass. That’s where you stand!”

Frankie instantly freezes at his words. Her head shoots up and she looks him dead in the eyes.

“Well… it’s not that simple, Miles, is it?”

“What do you mean? Of course it is!”

“I mean, we  _ live _ together. I can’t just… run away and disappear.”

“Are you seriously considering going back to him?” he asks her, incredulous. A sense of pure dread is growing at the pit of his stomach, and he sees Frankie flinch under his bewildered stare.

“That’s not what I said! It’s just… I don’t know, okay? I don’t know how I feel right now!”

Miles turns abruptly away from his sister, feeling his blood boiling in his veins. He hasn’t felt this angry in a very long time, and it scares him a little. He clenches his hands around the edge of his seat to try and calm down. The last thing he wants is to scare her into not talking, now that she’s finally opening up, and he realises he’s doing a lousy job at making her feel comfortable. So he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he murmurs, eyes on the ground. “It’s not you I’m mad at, you know that.” 

Frankie sits quietly for a long few minutes, and Miles thinks, _That’s it_ , she won’t talk to him again. But then, when he’s pretty much given up all hope, Frankie surprises him.

“I keep scanning my memories,” she says, “Going over every little detail looking for the red flags, all the signs I must have missed.”

And  _ that _ is not what he expected to hear. Miles glances over at her, trying and failing to hide his concern.

“What signs?” he asks, doing his best at controlling his voice.

Frankie evades his gaze, and Miles’s heart drops in his chest. He thought it was bad enough that his sister’s asshole boyfriend freaking  _ hit _ her, he certainly isn’t ready to learn there might be more. She nervously fidgets with the hem of his scarf, and when she starts speaking again it’s so quiet he almost misses it.

“It was never perfect, you know?”  _ Clearly _ , Miles catches himself thinking, but he bites his tongue and lets her talk, “Max can be incredibly sweet and romantic, but then sometimes he gets so mad about the smallest things…”

Miles finds it hard to swallow, his throat as dry as sandpaper. “Like what?” he asks her, as softly as he can.

“Like… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she leans on the back of the bench, staring vacantly at the naked trees in front of them.

“Like… he’s got quite a temper, when things don’t go his way. And he can be a bit possessive, at times.” She lowers her eyes to the ground and crosses her arms in front of her chest, as if trying to make herself smaller. Even her voice drops to merely more than a whisper. “The other night we had a huge fight while we were in his car. I mentioned I’d like to go home a few days during Spring Break, and he like… completely lost it. I don’t know if it was that I didn’t tell him sooner, or just the fact that I was going at all, but… He kept shouting at me the entire drive to his parents’ house, I was basically still trying to get myself together as we rang the doorbell. It was awful.”

All sorts of red flags are waving inside Miles’s head, but he tries to stay focused, keep talking. Keep her talking. 

“Does he have these fits often?” he asks, fearing for the answer.

She hesitates. “Sometimes,” she says, evasive. “Actually yeah, we argue quite often,” she finally admits. She sighs, her shoulders slumping down as she raises her eyes to the sky, blinking a few times too quickly. 

“He full-on yells at me, for hours sometimes,” she whispers. “It makes me feel horrible. Like… completely _worthless_.”

Miles finds himself staring wide-eyed at her, incapable of uttering a single word. Frankie drops her eyes once more, closing in on herself.

“Have you talked to anyone? About any of this?” he finally manages to ask her.

Frankie shrugs, her eyes avoiding his. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

He gets it, nobody really wants to spew their problems on other people — Miles for once has never been good at asking for help. Yet, he can’t help feeling a little disappointed to learn that Frankie didn’t reach out to any of her friends. You’d think that all the crap their father put them through in high school would have taught her that you can’t get through this kind of shit alone.

Frankie just scoffs, though, her head shaking slightly. “It’s not like I have all these people in my life,” she says in a bitter tone that doesn’t sound like her, leaving him even more confused.

“What are you talking about? You have plenty of friends!”

Frankie glances away, avoiding his insistent gaze. “Not really, no.”

“What about Shay, or Lola?” he suggests, but Frankie merely shakes her head at him, a sad smile on her face.

“High school is over, Miles. I barely get to see Lola when I’m back in Toronto, and Shay is so far away, and so busy all the time I never even hear from her. And I guess I have distanced myself, too. It just never seemed right to call them out of the blue.”

“What about your friends in Montreal?” he tries again.

Frankie pauses, tormenting her fingers in her lap. “I guess I’m just not as popular as you thought, uh?”

Miles is at loss for words, this is news to him. Frankie, the social butterfly, doesn’t have anyone to talk to? Not a single soul in Montreal that she trusts enough to open up?

“What about the… the societies, the clubs, weren’t you into, like, a ton of them?” he searches his memory for clues, insistent, “The... Debating Union, wasn’t it? Or… any of the other 1000 activities you’re involved in?”

Frankie shakes her head, a tired look on her face. “That was last year. I’ve dropped out of most of those things. And well… people don’t really stick around, when you don’t stick around.”

He finds it hard to read her tone, which is an odd feeling, because Miles knows Frankie like the back of his hand. It feels off balance, like something still doesn’t add up.

“...you quit all the clubs?” he asks her. “Why? You loved that Debating Union, last I saw you you wouldn’t shut up about it!”

Frankie shrugs, dismissive. “Max didn’t like me staying out late. And I wanted to be home with him after work, or I wouldn’t see him at all, you know?”

Now the alarm bells are blasting full volume in his head, what Frankie is saying definitely doesn’t sound right.

“I don’t know, I… I was just tired of fighting, I guess.”

“Jesus, Frankie. He did a number on you, didn’t he?”

He’s looking at her in dismay, and he can see she notices it. Frankie suddenly pulls herself up a little straighter, a guarded look appearing on her face. 

“I didn’t just quit  _ everything _ ,” she says, “I still volunteer at the Charity every Wednesday. Although...”

She briefly looks at him with her big, weary eyes, only to focus back on the tips of her shoes straight after.

“What?” he encourages her, as softly as he can.

“His mother is there too. And I don’t mind, I like her a lot, but… I never felt like I could really talk to anyone, there, you know? Like she was  _ watching _ me. Man, I sound paranoid now, I-”

“No,” he interjects, “No, you don’t. Gee, Frankie, I… I had no idea…”

Frankie exhales slowly, looking pretty defeated. She curls up on the bench, almost shrinking in front of him, and Miles feels completely inadequate. He feels like screaming, like kicking something; he just wishes there was anything he could do to go back in time and prevent all this from happening, but there isn’t. He clears his throat, trying to think of something to say to diffuse the discomfort at the heavy silence around them. But what, that he’s sorry? That he wishes she trusted him enough to come to him when all of this was happening? It doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem like any of it would make Frankie feel better.

Frankie hugs herself tighter, making herself even smaller on the wooden bench, and Miles has to fight the urge to pull her into his arms. Everything in Frankie’s body language is telling him to back off. So he just waits. 

“I knew it was bad, you know? I knew that something wasn’t right,” she finally says, quietly. She takes a deep breath, glances up to him briefly. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but a part of me still knew it.” 

_ Then why did you stay with him?  _ he wants to ask her, but even Miles understands it’s not that simple. 

“It sounds like he was trying to isolate you,” he tells her instead. Because it’s true, and he hopes she realises it.

Frankie sighs, shuddering slightly. A single tear falls over her lower lashline and onto her cheek, and Miles’s heart aches at the sight. His sister takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and she stares resolutely ahead, shaking her head.

“I’ve painted him like a monster, but he’s not,” she says. “He always apologises after we fight, and buys me flowers, and takes me out for dinner. He’s always so happy when we make up, and I know that he hates it when we’re mad at each other. I don’t want to make it sound like our entire relationship is horrible, you know? There are good parts, and they’re very good. And he loves me, because I know he does.”

“Frankie-”

“No, I know it’s messed up, it’s not healthy. It’s just…” she seems at loss for words, and raises her big doey eyes to him, as if to ask for help in articulating her thoughts. Finally, she admits, “It’s so hard when you love them, too!”

And Miles doesn’t have anything to say, to that. Her words hit a bit too close, they stir up uncomfortable and yet familiar feelings. His heart aches for his sister as he remembers how he, too, never quite managed to stop loving his father, despite all he had done. Despite how much he’d hurt him, over and over again.

Miles suddenly shivers, whether from the cold or from the memories, he doesn’t really know. He closes his coat tighter in front of himself, trying to fend off the winter air. Next to him, Frankie takes a deep breath.

“When he… you know, the other day, when he…”

She stumbles on her words, unable to continue.

“...hit you?” he offers, a solid lump blocking his throat at the words. She shivers slightly at his bluntness, and Miles feels like the worst human being on Earth for it.

“Yeah, I… I didn’t even do  _ anything _ , you know?” she goes on, staring blankly ahead. Miles nods to her, and he wants to tell her he understands. He knows what it feels like, to be so utterly frightened you can’t possibly move. But Frankie seems to be getting restless, frantic. “I didn’t scream, I didn’t even say anything. I should have done something, shouldn’t I? I should-” 

She stops abruptly and raises big pleading eyes to him, filled up with tears. She’s breathing fast — too fast, she’s practically hyperventilating, working herself up to a frenzy.

“Frankie,” he says, placing both hands firmly on her shoulders and turning slightly to face her. “Frankie… look at me. Take a deep breath,” he models it for her, inhaling and exhaling slowly. He urges her to mimic, until she does. In and out, in and out, until her breathing goes down to a normal rhythm and she finally starts to calm down. He takes her face between his hands, gently, and he wipes her tears away with his fingertips. He pulls her towards his chest and starts rocking her back and forth, running his fingers through her hair.

“You left,” he whispers in her ear. “You came to Hunter. You asked for help. You did everything right, everything!”

She closes her eyes and new tears start flowing down her cheeks once more, her body shaking with silent sobs. He keeps her tightly wrapped in his arms and leans in to breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. His eyes are burning uncomfortably, a painful feeling crushing his insides. 

It takes several minutes until he finally feels her relaxing against his body. She scoots even further into his arms, letting him comfort her. And Miles holds on to her, as long as she needs.


	5. Saturday

_ Hi baby, how is everything in London? I was wondering, have you heard from your sister, recently? I’ve been trying to call her but her phone is always off. Let me know! x Mum _

_ …  _

Miles stares at the words on the screen and lets out a sigh, his back sinking further into the floppy air mattress on the floor. Two feet from him, Frankie is sitting crossed-legged on Hunter’s bed, carefully applying a thick layer of concealer on the fading bruise under her eye.

It hurts to watch her do that. So Miles kind of doesn’t, looking somewhere else — anywhere else, the ceiling, his phone, his mother’s text — instead.

It’s mid-morning, and it’s the weekend, so Hunter doesn’t have anywhere to be. Frankie’s still not too happy about mixing up with people, but today she agreed to venture out to the caf. So, the plan is to have an early lunch — this time for real, no more sandwiches sneaked in by Hunter as if they were criminals in hiding.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Hunter announces walking in, hair still wet from the shower and a towel hanging from his shoulders. “You alright there, Miles?”

Miles shoots him a glance at the direct call, his mouth dry all of a sudden. Frankie is also staring at him, now, albeit less directly than their brother. 

“Yeah, I just…” Miles throws a sideways glare to their sister, who immediately sits up a little straighter on the bed.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing, just, Mum texted me. Asking about you,” he nods towards her.

Frankie’s face drops. “She did?”

“Yeah, me too,” Hunter says casually. Both siblings turn towards him wide-eyed. “Relax, gee! I told her I spoke to you yesterday. I was very non-specific. Why?”

Frankie’s face somewhat settles, but there’s still a clear sense of worry in her eyes.

“Okay… thanks,” she manages. “I haven’t, you know… My phone’s been off.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Hunter says.

Frankie looks tentatively at the both of them. “Do you guys think… should I turn it back on?”

Hunter and Miles exchange a look, and suddenly Hunter doesn’t look quite as confident as ten seconds ago. 

“I mean… you don’t have to,” he hesitates.

“I don’t really feel like talking to mum. But I could text her back, maybe, so she knows I’m fine and stops worrying.”

She doesn’t seem too convinced by her own words, so Miles nods towards her, reassuringly. “Sure. But, only if you feel ready.”

She stalls for a moment, but after a beat she goes on with it while her resolution lasts, her fingers trembling slightly as she presses the switch-on button.

Nothing happens at first, but it’s just the quiet before the storm. Within a few seconds Frankie’s phone starts going off like crazy, beeping with a thousand notifications for text messages and missed calls. Max’s name is  _ everywhere _ , and Miles and Hunter share a concerned glance as they wait for her reaction. Frankie keeps her composure, though. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and she briefly closes her eyes as the device keeps beeping. She then turns it to silent mode and switches off the screen, pretending not to care about the words she’s clearly been able to glimpse at.

“I guess texting mum will have to wait,” she says, doing her best to keep her voice light. She sighs quietly, then glances back at them. “I’ll delete them later,” she decides, “I can’t even be bothered looking at them, now.” 

Miles and Hunter smile feebly at her. They were all expecting this to happen, but it’s still unsettling to actually see it all unfold. Maybe it will all die down soon enough, though. How persistent can someone be, how long would Max have kept trying to reach her before giving up? Her phone’s been off for days. Sure he must have gotten the message. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Miles says, forcing a reassuring smile on. “I’m sure mum can wait a little longer. No rush, okay?”

Frankie nods back at him, looking a bit defeated. Her phone is face-down on the bed just next to her, reduced to silence for the moment. 

Hunter then checks the time on his wrist-watch, shuffling restlessly on his feet.

“Not to ruin the serious mood, but… Shall we get going, now? I’m kind of starving…”

Miles chuckles, shaking his head. Frankie, too, seems grateful at the suggestion, and she smiles timidly at her twin.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Miles doesn’t miss the quick squeeze Hunter gives to her shoulder, as they’re walking out of the room. He picks up the pace and falls in step just behind them.

… 

It’s amazing how much a silent piece of metal can keep them all hostage. It’s quite surprising, considering she kept it off for so long, but Frankie seems hyper-aware of it now, and almost supernaturally alerted to each new silent notification. The boys keep sharing uneasy glances between each other, unsure what to do. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, after all. Frankie’s face so very clearly drops every time she catches a glimpse of her screen, lighting up with yet another new incoming message.

“You can turn it back off, Franks, it’s okay,” Miles tries once he can’t take it anymore. “We’ll tell mum that you’re away for the weekend and have bad signal or something. Okay?”

Frankie briefly looks up to him, but then she’s glancing yet again at her phone.

“No, it’s- it’s okay. I can’t hide forever, right? This was bound to happen at some point.”

Her screen keeps lighting up with new notifications, though, and it’s hard not to notice her tensing every single time she catches a glimpse of his name _. _ They’re new messages, now that the flow of old ones has stopped, and increasingly more insistent incoming calls — Max must have noticed her phone is on again, and seems determined to reach her. 

Eventually, on the eighth attempted call in a row, Hunter finally snaps the phone from Frankie’s hands and picks up.

“She’s not going to answer, fucking asshole, so stop calling her!” he practically shouts into the speaker. He then hangs up, a satisfied grin barely hidden on his flustered face. 

All falls silent between them. The atmosphere has instantly shifted, and Miles glances towards Frankie, worried. He hasn’t missed how her breath is quickening, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stares at their brother. There’s something sort of vacant in her eyes, though, as if she can’t really see Hunter in front of her.

“He knows where I am now…” she barely whispers, and at her words Hunter’s face  _ drops _ . “He knows I’m with you, he must have recognised your voice. What if he comes here? What do I do, what if-”

“Frankie,” Miles tries, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Frankie flinches away so violently it feels like a piece of him is being torn out. “Frankie, look at me,” he begs her, but she doesn’t seem to hear him. 

Miles has enough personal experience with panic attacks to recognise the signs of his sister building up  to one —  eyes wide and breathing heavily, her shoulders shaking and a cold sweat glistening on her skin. Hoping with every fibre of his body this won’t freak her out even more, Miles takes one step in her direction and takes her face delicately in his hands, looking straight into her eyes. “Frankie, please, listen to me,” he pushes, when she finally meets his gaze, “Hunter and I won’t leave you alone even for a second. He won’t come, but if he does, we’ll be with you, I promise.” He combs some stray hair behind her ears with his fingers, gently. “I promise, Frankenstein. We’ll keep you safe.”

Hunter’s lingering just beside them, still a bit in shock, a guilty look on his face. “Frankie… I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t think!”

Frankie closes her eyes, breathing deeply. Her body is shaking a little and a few stray tears roll over the rim of her eyes, streaking her cheeks. She nods briefly at their brother, a silent acknowledgement. Miles pulls her in close, kisses her on the temple.

“You okay?” he asks, softly.

Frankie nods back, her forehead resting on him. She doesn’t seem too okay, to be fair, but at least she appears to have calmed down a little. Less shaken. He squeezes her tight, and keeps her there — safe in his arms — for way longer than it would be considered acceptable, considering they’re standing in the middle of a public footpath.

“Now… forget the caf, let’s get some real food in our bellies. My treat!” says Miles, a forced happiness in his tone that doesn’t feel quite right, and yet he doesn’t know what else to do. He pinches Frankie’s cheek as if she were still a little girl, and she smiles at that, at last. It’s a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Miles wraps an arm around her shoulders as they set off, and even Hunter places a hand on the small of her back as they walk side by side.


	6. Sunday

He’s going to stay at Winston’s from now on. His brother has been incredibly hospitable so far, and hasn’t questioned his plans at all, but it’s been four days, and Miles has a feeling if they had to spend one more night on that flimsy air bed together they’d end up killing each other in their sleep; moving out seemed the sensible option. Hunter let him borrow his old car so he can go back and forth easily, and Miles promised to be back first thing in the morning, before Hunter has to set off for class.

Winston crushes him into a bear hug, a ear-to-ear grin on his face the moment he sees Miles standing in his doorway.

“Man, it’s great to see you! How was your flight, when did you arrive?”

Miles tugs at his ear, an embarrassed smirk on his face. “Actually, I’ve been here since Wednesday. I was bunking in Hunter’s dorm.”

“What? Should I be offended?” Winston jokes, “You’ve been here for four days and this is the first I’m hearing of it?”

“Ah, man! It’s been a mess, I’ll tell you inside…”

Winston leads him through the house. The living room is a decent size, and sporting all the mismatched furniture you would expect in a student house. One of his roommates is back home for the weekend, and the other is out, so the place is quiet. They run up the stairs to Winston’s room so Miles can drop his bag, and Miles manages to pilot the conversation towards some mindless chit-chatting (what Winston’s been up to, the dreaded rain in London, anything to keep him distracted from the big elephant in the room that is Miles showing up at his door). It works for a little bit, it’s been almost an hour when Winston brings up the issue again.

“Look, it’s great to see you, man, but what exactly are you doing here in the middle of the term?”

They’re down in the kitchen, waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to come through. Miles didn’t realise how used he got to drinking tea all the time in the UK till he came back and started ingesting coffee at all hours once again. He looks sheepishly at Winston, scanning his brain for a reasonable excuse. This is precisely why it took him four days to work up the courage to call his best friend and ask if he could crash at his place.

“It’s kind of… Ah, Chewy. Let’s say it’s a family emergency of some sort?”

Winston tenses imperceptibly at his words, and Miles decides right then he can’t keep this a secret from him any longer. It’s not just that Winston deserved to know, although he clearly does. Miles himself needs to vent with his best friend, if anything.

“I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise me you won’t freak out.”

“The hell, Miles?”

He’s right, Miles’s being a dick. He struggles for a moment, internally debating how much it’s fair to say while doing right by his sister, but then he discards all caution and decides to wing it. This is Winston, for Heaven’s sake, he’s known them forever. He’ll handle this right.

“It’s Frankie,” Miles starts. “She’s fine, don’t freak, she’s with Hunter,” he rushes to clarify at the widening of Winston’s eyes. He takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his eyes to stay focused.

“Do you remember that dude she was dating?”

“Mr. Biggest Shot of Québec?” asks Winston, raising an eyebrow. “Sure I do, aren’t they living together?”

“Yeah, well, apparently he’s an abusive asshole, so there’s that.”

He sees Winston’s face go white in front of him, and he’s reminded once again of one of the many reasons they’re best friends. Winston truly cares about his family, his siblings. Gee, he’s known Frankie since she was four years old. This will be almost as hard for him as it is for Miles.

Miles leans back against the kitchen counter, his palms clasping around the edge of cheap laminate. He drops his gaze to the tiled floor, unable to look Winston in the eyes as he continues. “He hit her, the other day. She drove straight here to Hunter, thank god, and he called me. And here I am.”

It’s impossible to overstate how difficult it was to put this into words, and yet Miles feels so relieved now that he’s said it out loud. Winston hasn’t uttered a single sound, and he looks vaguely spaced out. He slumps down on the closest chair, and Miles definitely gets the feeling.

“You can’t tell her you know,” he stresses. “Please, Winston, I’m serious — I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

Winston glances up with a sort of  _ Are You Kidding  _ expression on his face, but then some semblance of understanding flashes through his eyes, and he’s back to just looking worried.

“You promise me she’s okay?” he asks. “I mean, you know what I mean. Not okay, but...?”

Miles nods slowly, taking a seat next to him at the table.

“I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t.”

Winston knows it’s the truth, because he knows him.

“Do your parents know?”

Miles shakes his head. “Nobody knows. Just Hunter, and me. And now, you.”

“Wow. This is some heavy shit, dude.”

“Trust me, I know. I tried suggesting she talks to Mum, but she won’t listen. Then I tried to convince her to at least call Lola, you know? But she’s adamant. I even thought of calling Lola myself, just to make sure she has  _ someone _ to talk to. But it wouldn’t be fair, it’s not my place.”

Winston nods at him, as if to say he understands. Miles bets he shares his frustration, the urge to do something, to  _ fix _ things. But Frankie would hate him if he went behind her back to reach other people. And Miles would hate himself, too. He just has to wait for her to be ready, if he really wants to help, he knows this. Patience has never been his strongest suit, though.

“I just wish there was something more I could do,” he feebly confesses to his best friend. 

Winston looks straight into his eyes, and then he confidently places a hand on Miles’s shoulder. “Well, at least you have a place to stay, now. For as long as you need. So, zero worries about that, okay?”

Miles smiles weakly. 

“Thanks, Chewy.”

Sometimes he just loves this man, so much.


	7. Monday

“Where’s Frankie?” asks Hunter as he walks back in from his afternoon classes.

“She’s just gone for a shower. You pretty much just missed her,” says Miles, sitting up on the bed where he’s been slouching for the past few minutes. “All good?”

“Yeah, not bad. The usual. How about you guys?”

”Same, quiet. We went out for a bit. Frankie managed to text mum back, and she also got in touch with her school.”

“Okay, good. And… has  _ he _ tried calling again?”

Miles shakes his head, and Hunter visibly relaxes. 

“You know, I have been thinking,” says Miles, “It might have been a good thing in the end, when you picked up the other day. At least he knows not to show up at mum’s looking for her, or something.”

Hunter looks pensive for a moment, doesn’t answer straight away. 

“Do you think he’ll actually come here?” he finally asks, his voice lowered even though it’s just the two of them in the room.

Miles sighs, his shoulder slumping down. “I don’t know,” he says. Frankie was so freaked out when it first happened that none of them really stopped to think of it, but since then things have calmed down. “Honestly, she doesn’t seem all that worried about it. And, I mean, does he even know where you live? Seems like a stretch to me.”

He doesn’t want to dismiss the possibility, but at the same time… Frankie’s been here almost a week, now. Max’s known her whereabouts for two full days. If anything was to happen, wouldn’t it have happened already?

Hunter shrugs, shaking his head lightly. “I hope you’re right.”

“Okay, tell you what,” Miles stands up and stretches his back, “I’ll head downstairs for a smoke, if you don’t mind, and then maybe we can think dinner?” 

Yes, Miles smokes — no worries, though, just cigarettes. It’s his one remaining vice, these days. It helps with stress, and to be fair it also helps him avoid other substances, so he sticks to his nicotine even though he knows he should try quitting, for the good of his own abused lungs. He doesn’t normally flaunt it around, when he’s home, but these past few days have been a whole new level of stressful, and anyway Hunter doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Yeah, no problem,” his brother says, unfazed. “Actually, you know what? You don’t need to go all the way down, I’ll show you the terrace.”

“The terrace?”

Hunter grins. “It’s not, really. It’s just this thing on top of the emergency stairwell. We’re not  _ exactly _ supposed to go there, but everyone does. You just need to be careful not to lock yourself out, I’ll show you…”

He opens the door to his room, leaning outside to point at a firedoor at the opposite end of the hall, when suddenly his face shifts. Miles follows his gaze, puzzled, until he sees what caught Hunter’s eye: the door is propped open — by something that looks an awful lot like a shower caddy. Miles can almost hear the cogwheels click in his brother’s head, and before he knows it Hunter’s running down the corridor, Miles shortly behind. They climb the stairs two at a time, and when they finally get to the terrace they find Frankie standing there, leaning against the concrete bannister. She’s on the phone, and by her deer-in-headlights expression there’s no doubt left who she’s talking to. And Miles can feel his own stomach knotting inside him, almost making him throw up.

Everything seems to stand still for a moment, until Hunter runs up to her, grabs the phone from her hands, and angrily smashes it on the floor. Frankie instantly freezes, wide eyes staring back at him in shock.

“What’s  _ wrong _ with you?” she cries after a beat.

“With me?! What the hell’s wrong with you! Calling him? Seriously?”

She seems speechless for a second, not quite prepared for the angry tone in his voice, but she’s quick to regain her ground, and when she gets back at him it feels like she’s going in for his throat.

“Are you for real?” she yells in his face, “It’s my relationship, Hunter.  _ My _ mess. Stay the hell out of it!”

“Stay out?” Hunter growls back, his face red and his lips so thin they’re about to disappear, “You’re the one who drove across the country and showed at my door with a fucking bruise on your face-”

“Well, I’ll be sure never to make that mistake again!” Frankie cries at the top of her lungs, angry tears rolling over the rims of her eyes, and Hunter looks like she’s slapped him.

“Franks, come on, that’s not-” Miles tries to chip in and quiet the angry tones, but Hunter quickly regains his composure.

“What the hell happened since the other day, uh?” he attacks her again, changing his tactic. “You pretty much had a panic attack at the thought he might come here and find you, and now you’re freaking  _ talking _ to him?”

“Hunter, seriously-” Miles tries again, but this time it’s Frankie who cuts him off.

“What do you even know about loving someone, Hunter?” she yells at him, her voice such a high pitch Miles’s eardrums ache at the sound, “He loves me, you know that? He loves me, and I love him!”

She’s bawling her eyes out, by now, and Miles’s insides contract painfully at the hysterical scene — her tears, and sobs, and the broken excuses coming from her. Hunter is just about ready to get back at her, but Miles finally moves to close the distance separating him from his siblings and places a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It’s enough to get his attention, and Hunter seems to instantly deflate the moment he catches sight of his eyes. Miles quietly pulls Hunter back from their sister with a meaningful look, one that says,  _ now is not the time _ . He then turns towards Frankie — red face and blotchy eyes, a hot mess. He doesn’t say anything, for there’s nothing to say; he just reaches out and offers her his open arms. 

Frankie glances at him suspiciously for a second, still defensive, maybe unsure whose side Miles would be on. But there’s only one side, here, and they’re all on it. Always. She finally quits her fight and lets him get near. She’s freezing to the touch, having stood outside in the winter air for a while without her coat on. He keeps her in his arms for long minutes, holding her tight as she breaks down and cries, and sobs, and holds on to him. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, face hiding in his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, a solid lump blocking his throat. “It’s okay.”

He rests his chin over Frankie’s head and holds her tighter, her body shuddering from the cold and the aftermath of whatever it is that just went down. He understands that she needs this — the tears, the catharsis of it all. He glances over toward Hunter and they briefly lock eyes with each other. Miles shakes his head ever so slightly, helplessness seeping through him. In all honesty, Hunter seems on the verge of tears, his face all scrunched up and hardened. He shuffles on his feet, bends down and collects what remains of Frankie’s phone. He moves back to the edge of the terrace and lays the shattered pieces on top of the bannister, slowly. He then leans his back against it, eyes planted on the ground, arms wrapped around himself for comfort. 

The sound of Frankie’s sobs is fading out into the evening as they quiet down. Miles inhales deeply, letting the cold air fill his lungs before releasing it slowly. He closes his eyes and bends down to kiss her on the head.


	8. Tuesday

He wakes up in a cold sweat, a sense of dread filling him as he realises it's _Tuesday,_ and that means he has to submit this stupid assignment that he completely forgot about. He jumps out of bed (aka the pull-out mattress on Winston's floor) and makes a run for the kitchen, to get some coffee going.

He's halfway through his first cup when Winston shuffles through the doorway, sleepy eyes and the most ridiculous bed-hair he's ever seen. He makes a beeline for the coffee pot and pours himself a generous amount in the mug Miles's handing him. He takes a long sip, and then another. He finally puts the cup down, and takes a good look at Miles.

"You alright, man? You're shaking."

He is, indeed.

"Yeah, I… I just had a really weird nightmare, that's all."

Winston pauses for just a moment. "Wanna talk about it?"

Miles doesn't answer straight away. Flashes of the images that crowded his head last night are resurfacing relentlessly, and nothing he can do seems to manage to push them down.

"I don't know, Chewy, it's just… kind of _sick_ , to think about it."

Winston's looking at him with a funny expression on his face. Miles knows Winston's not going to be weirded out by anything he might tell him — they're way past that — but the thing is, this crazy ass dream is not even the point, disturbing as it was, and Miles knows exactly what's behind it.

"It's just what happened with Frankie last night, you know?" he finally opens up, a mere whisper in the quiet of the kitchen at this early hour. "I mean, seeing her like that, so… vulnerable? The fact that after everything that happened she still gave in and called him, I think…" he measures his words, carefully, "I think it affected me way more than I thought. I'm not exactly sure why, just… it really messed me up."

"You're just worried about her, that's normal," Winston says, sympathetic. Miles sighs deeply, meeting his best friend's eyes with a brief nod.

"I have this paper to write by tonight. By 7 p.m., in fact, considering the different timezone. It seems stupid to worry about something so trivial right now, but I had completely forgotten about it, and I have zero clue what to write about, and I really don't need the stress of failing Creative Writing on top of everything-"

"Whoah, wait a second, who says you're failing? Gee, Miles, there's like _eleven hours_ left till then, I'm sure you can put something together. Just breathe, man, yeah?"

He takes the advice, calms down a little. Chewy's right, he was working himself up to a frenzy.

Winston pats a hand on his shoulder. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks. You're right. I just need to find somewhere quiet to spend the rest of the day powering through."

"Or," Winston says, "You could take my student ID and use the library. Just a thought."

"...you'd really do that?"

Winston looks at him with the utmost exasperation on his face. Come to think of it, this is hardly the biggest favour he's ever done to him.

"Just take it. Call me when you're on your way back, okay?"

…

Banting's central library is possibly one of the coolest places he's ever stepped foot into. Miles finds himself a comfortable spot and gets ready to spend the day with this creative writing piece. He has some half-written notes he took weeks ago while planning this assignment, but they're all over the place and way too ambitious for the time he has left, so Miles just discards them completely and starts back from scratch.

He ends up writing a twisted story about a little girl who is cursed with the presence of an evil, monstrous Shadow that follows her around, looming over her. The Shadow messes with her head, isolating her from her surroundings and forcing her into all sorts of dangers that inevitably end up harming her. The girl is strong, though, and resilient, and perseveres in devising complex plans to escape from the Shadow's looming presence. However, each time she manages to resurface a little, she keeps being pulled back into the darkness. Until one day, exhausted from a lifetime of struggles, she simply gives up trying.

He feels a bit sick when he's done. He submits the assignment without proofreading it, because he knows if he waits one more second he'll delete the whole thing. Now he just hopes they won't send an army of psychiatrists looking for him.

…

That evening, after Frankie's asleep and Hunter's off to the showers, Miles climbs the stairs to the terrace once more and takes a seat against the bannister while lighting up a cigarette. The acrid taste of the smoke in the back of his throat immediately calms him down, even before the nicotine starts flowing in his system, and Miles inhales deeply a few times. He can feel his body relaxing, relieved from the tension accumulated over the course of the day, and his mind clearing, the raging thoughts dissipating into a cloud of smoke. The hours spent frantically obsessing over his morbid story sure didn't help his mental state in any way.

"I thought you were up here!"

Hunter appears from the emergency door, quickly spotting him in his corner, and Miles silently motions for him to join him on the floor.

"You okay? You seemed off, tonight," asks Hunter.

Miles exhales deliberately slowly, tapping the ashes from the tip of the cigarette.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he responds, "I'm just a bit stuck in my head today. It happens, sometimes."

Hunter nods sombrely. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Miles going through the rest of his cigarette, Hunter simply sitting next to him, his gaze lost in the stars above their heads. It's a clear night, and it's a bit chilly. Hunter's not wearing his coat, just a simple black hoodie, and Miles sneaks a look towards him wondering if he's cold, but Hunter seems fine. There are no lights on this terrace, and the burning cigarette in Miles's fingers stands out, red and sizzling each time he inhales. It's quiet, peaceful.

"I'm sorry I had to bail on you guys, today," he says, although he knows he doesn't have to explain himself. "Did you manage to go to your class?"

"Nah, I- Frankie wanted me to but, you know." Hunter makes a face, looking eloquently at him.

"You didn't trust to leave her alone," Miles finishes for him.

"Yeah. She hated that."

"I bet." Miles pulls the cigarette to his lips once more, the motion flowing without him even thinking about it. "Did you guys talk?"

"A little," says Hunter. "She's not going to contact him again, I don't think."

There's a heavy moment, right there. Miles drops his gaze to the ground, fiddling with the dying stub between his fingers. "She's a bit emotional right now," he whispers.

Hunter scoffs. "Yeah, no kidding." It's not harsh, just the way Hunter is. Hell, Miles knows Hunter would give an arm and a leg for their sister. He's just worried for her.

"How are you coping with all this?" he asks, cautious.

Hunter just shrugs, then looks at him. Miles grimaces.

"Yeah, me too."

He takes one last deep drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it on the concrete floor while the hot air burns through his lungs. All is silent for a moment. Miles exhales, slowly, faint spirals of smoke circling towards the starred sky above.

"How did you know she was calling him?" Miles then asks. It's something that's been bugging him at the back of his mind since last night.

Hunter looks at him in confusion, so Miles clarifies, "Yesterday. You saw the door open and you knew she was talking to Max, that's why you ran. How did you know?"

Hunter seems to shrink on himself, a puzzled expression on his face. "I just… knew! Didn't you?"

Miles thinks about it for a second. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't even notice it was your shower caddy, propping the door open," he finally says, and it's true. He followed Hunter as an instinct, but he didn't fully realise what was going on until he saw Frankie standing in front of him, here on this same terrace. He's been wondering since how on earth Hunter knew, how he was so sure of what was happening.

Hunter has an almost comical frown on, cutting a wrinkle just between his eyebrows, and Miles is suddenly flooded with a sense of immense affection for his little brother. He shoves playfully at his side, a grin on his face.

"Maybe you two really have twin-telepathy or some shit. Always knew you were freaks!"

Hunter smiles back at him, a childish dimple appearing in the middle of his cheek, his bright blue eyes flashing with a mixture of annoyance and relief.

"...jackass!"


	9. Wednesday

Frankie and Miles are back on their bench. It’s becoming a sort of tradition, at this point, they’ve been doing it almost every day; when Hunter is off to class they grab themselves a coffee from the campus shop and come here. It’s still quite cold outside, but the sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day. Yet, not many other people are daring to venture outdoors in this late February weather, so the whole place is pretty quiet. Which is just what they need.

“This sun is amazing, isn’t it?” Frankie says. She balances her latte haphazardly on the bench next to her and she shuffles to move her scarf away from her face, soaking in the warm rays. She reaches into her pocket and picks out her new phone, identical to the one Hunter smashed the other night on the terrace. She checks quickly for new messages, finds none, and dumps it back into the depths of her bag. 

“Is that the apology present?” Miles jokes, motioning towards her.

Frankie smiles. “He just felt bad for breaking it, so he replaced it.” Her face falls a little and she looks sheepishly at him. “Don’t worry,” she says, “Hunter made me block him. His number, and all socials. Like, he made me do it in front of him,” she stresses.

“Good,” Miles says, and she rolls her eyes at him. But she’s smiling a little. It’s nice to see that. 

Frankie picks back up her cup of coffee, settling into a comfortable position and sipping through the rest of her drink. Miles follows suit, enjoying it while it’s hot.

“Can I ask you something unpleasant?” Frankie then says, after a minute. She’s stalling, hesitant, so Miles turns his head in her direction, nodding his permission. She still seems unsure, her fingers twitching in her lap, her eyes elusive. She finally takes a deep breath, and looks straight at him. “How did you get over Dad’s abuse?”

The words startle him more than he’d like to admit. She’s never asked, they never talk about it — never have. Miles forces himself to hide his sudden discomfort from her, though, because it’s not fair. She should be free to ask questions without him falling apart in front of her. Over the years he’s become better at dealing with that part of his life, but even so, he’s still incredibly uncomfortable discussing the details. With his siblings, especially. However, Miles would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it, these past few days, how striking the similarities. How he wishes he never had to have this conversation with her.

“Time, I guess. And a lot of therapy,” he answers honestly. He wishes he could do something more to help, but there’s nothing that can be done, not really.

“I know it’s not the same,” says Frankie, “You were a lot younger, for starters, and you couldn’t exactly move out of the house. But I keep thinking that… both of us got hurt by the very people who were supposed to love us, and care for us…”

Miles’s heart skips a beat, at that, his sister’s words instantly forcing him back to that awful time in his life. How desperately he wanted to please his father. How much any little kind word meant, and how deeply everything else hurt. Truth is, he’s still not over it. A part of him never will.

He glances at her, and she looks so  _ small. _ He never wanted his little sister to know this feeling, and yet here they are. 

“You know none of this is your fault, right?” he asks, but he’s only met with silence. “Frankie?” 

She’s hugging her knees, curled up on the bench, her eyes decidedly on the tips of her sneakers. 

“Yeah, I know,” she finally says. “Although… I don’t know. I keep thinking that maybe I could have done something differently, you know? To avoid things escalating as they did?”

Miles stares at her wordlessly for a moment, his heart dropping in his chest. He thinks back to her words just a few days ago, how she kept excusing Max’s behaviour, even blamed herself for not reacting when he struck her. He feels a fuming rage growing inside him at the thought, and it takes more than he would like to admit for him not to try and shake some sense into her. But it’s not Frankie he’s mad at, he knows that. So he closes his eyes for a brief moment. Takes a deep breath. Pulls his own legs up on the bench, mirroring her.

"I used to think that too, you know?” he admits, as gently as he can. “I used to think there had to be something wrong with me, for Dad to be constantly disappointed."

Frankie turns towards him, very slowly. "We all made you think that," she whispers, so quietly he barely hears her.

"And then you all sided with me, when you found out the truth. Don't think I forgot that," he comes back, firmly.

It’s been a long time, and it feels even longer. Miles didn’t bring this up to make Frankie feel guilty, on the contrary. Yeah, at the time he might have resented his siblings a bit, but he’s long made peace with it. They were just kids. They couldn’t know.

He gently pulls his sister close and presses a kiss on her temple. “Come on, Frankie. You’re smart, and beautiful, and kind. Some people are just… angry. And they take it out on those who have the misfortune to love them. You should never think it was on you to stop him. Okay?”

She nods feebly against his shoulder, and he can feel her chest moving shakily up and down with each breath she takes. They sit in silence, letting the gentle breeze caress their hair and listening to the soothing sound of the branches swooshing above their heads. Out of nowhere, he feels the uncomfortable sting of tears behind his eyes, burning to be let out, and he wonders for a split second if she feels the same. He pushes them back — he’s not a cryer, Miles — and he shakes himself out of it, disentangling his limbs from his sister’s.

“ _ Jesus, _ ” he exclaims, overdramatically, “I definitely need a smoke, after this.” 

He reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, partly to try and lighten the mood, and partly because this conversation clearly calls for one. He turns to look at her as he detects her burning glare on his skin, and he’s met with a frown he knows all too well. 

"You know that smoking is really, really bad for you, right?" she scolds him.

Miles raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile at the familiar, annoying tone of her voice. She sounds like the Frankie he knows, now, more than she has ever since he got here. 

"Want a drag?" he jokes.

Frankie considers his offer for a second, and then she takes him completely by surprise, nodding briefly. 

"Sure, why not."

He looks at her very eloquently as he passes over the cigarette in silence, a smirk curving his lips. She looks dead serious as she inhales, but if Miles ever had any doubt Frankie had smoked before, they are immediately gone the moment she starts coughing her soul out in the most comical of ways.

"Easy!" Miles says with an amused chuckle, taking back the cigarette and patting her on the back. He gives her a sympathetic smile as she slowly starts breathing properly again. "You know, smoking is really, really bad for you!" he mocks her, earning himself a glaring look from her part.

The way she’s trying to look threatening cracks him up completely, given her face is all red and puffy and her eyes are watering from her one drag of smoke. Luckily, she seems to see the irony in it, too, and soon they’re both laughing — snorting, even. It gets so loud that a random couple walking by turn around at the noise, and they have to hold their bellies with both hands so as not to fall from the bench.

And it feels  _ really damn _ good.


	10. Thursday

Hunter has his shitty 8:00 a.m. on Thursdays, so Miles decides that since he has to drag himself out of bed that early, he and Frankie might as well treat themselves to breakfast. So he parks the car by Hunter’s building, and they take a stroll towards Princess Street.

They sit in a quiet cafe with colourful decor and start going through the menu. Frankie can’t decide if she wants a bagel or an egg muffin, so Miles orders them both, and overnight oats with black coffee for himself. Hunter has a full day of classes, today, which leaves them free to wander aimlessly for most of the day.

“What would you like to do today?” he asks her as their orders arrive. “Since we’re in town already we could stay around a bit, maybe check out a museum?”

Frankie takes a sip of her latte, and the milk froth leaves a moustache on her upper lip. She’s quick to lick it away, but it still makes him smile.

“Nah,” she says. “I mean, you can go if you want. But I’d better get back to Hunter’s and get some work done. I’m really falling behind with my readings.”

“Lame!” Miles coughs in his hand. Frankie shows him the tongue, then slumps back in her chair.

“Gee, why did we order this much food!” she blurts out, a hand on her belly. “Want to share my bagel?”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.” 

He leans over and splits the bagel in two, getting cream cheese all over his fingers in the process.

“I’d better ask to take the muffin to go,” says Frankie, flagging the waiter with her hand.

“Remind me never to take you out for breakfast again,” Miles jokes, and then he bites into his bagel. “This is good!”

“Yeah, right? At least I have good taste,” she winks.

His half of the bagel is gone in two more bites, and Miles settles in to sip through his coffee while Frankie nibbles at her half.

“Ready to go?” he asks her once she’s finished with it.

“Yeah, sure.”

It’s not as gorgeous a day as yesterday was, but it’s still nice. The sun keeps coming in and out of a few sparse clouds, moving fast above their heads. They pause in front of a few store windows, but end up not entering any. Soon they turn off Princess Street and start heading back towards campus.

“Come to London with me,” he suddenly proposes.

“Yeah, right,” says Frankie, humoring him. For all her talk of them ordering too much, she’s already rummaging through her take-our bag, an ecstatic smile at the scent coming from it. She takes a bite from the egg muffin, as if she hadn’t just finished breakfast ten minutes ago. 

As she realises he’s serious, though, she raises an eyebrow in a meaningful expression, looking at him as if he’s gone mad all of a sudden.

“Miles… I can’t just come to London with you,” she tries to reason.

“Why not?” he questions, challenging her.

She looks at him wide-eyed. “Just be realistic for a moment, yes? I have, you know, school. I’ve been here over a week now and I’m already falling behind. I have classes I need to show up to, and there’s papers due, and-”

“Just… think about it. It could be… an extended Spring Break. You love Europe, why not? We could catch a train and go to Paris together on the weekend, or to Brussels, or Amsterdam even. Wherever you want.”

“I don’t know, Miles…” 

She still doesn’t look convinced, but she’s faltering a little at the mention of all the possibilities that would be just at their fingertips.

“What about... exams, and everything,” she tries again, “I can’t possibly-” 

“Look, Frankie,” he interjects, “School will still be there when you come back, you know? Plus, I’m sure there’s a way around that.”

“Like what?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe you can take a class in the UK and transfer the credits. If you even decide to stay that long, that is. We can look into it, okay?”

Frankie doesn’t comment on his far-fetched suggestion. She doesn’t seem convinced in the slightest.

“You wouldn’t know anyone,” he presses her, getting to the real point behind this wild idea. “There would be nothing reminding you of any of this. A clean slate.”

He must have said something wrong, Miles realises in horror, because suddenly Frankie’s eyes are welling up. She paces back from him, taking her head in her hands, her face scrunching up as she tries not to cry.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Wha- What?” 

Miles is left staring at her dumbfounded, a sense of dread filling him. This definitely didn’t go as he was hoping it would.

“I don’t know what I want to do right now, okay?” she sobs, and the sound of it is like a punch in the guts. “It’s just… too much! I don’t know what I want, and I can’t make that decision on the spot, and you just keep  _ pushing _ me-”

“No, Franks, gee.. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to push you, at all!”

“Then _ why  _ did you just ask me if I want to move to London like that?!” 

She’s crying so hard now that passersby are starting to stare at them funny.

“Come with me,” Miles says, placing a hand on her back and moving her out of the storefronts at the crossroad, into the empty street. “Let’s find somewhere quiet.”

She pulls away from him, then starts walking resolutely ahead. Miles looks at her in dismay for a moment, then falls in step behind her.

She turns into a parking lot of what looks like a school, a block down. There’s a few benches, a little off the road, and she drops down on one of them. He sits across from her, careful not to step too close. She’s still crying, her face red and blotchy, but she seems to have calmed down a little. She’s not sobbing, at least.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” he tells her, earnest. “I really didn’t mean to put any pressure on you.”

“I know,” she whispers, and her voice is a little hoarse. “It’s just… too overwhelming. I just-”

She looks at him, eyes wide and liquid.

“I’m sorry, I’m just… not really emotionally stable, these days.”

Miles shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “God, Frankie. Come here.”

He pulls her into a hug, rubbing a hand on her back. He leans his head close to hers and keeps her burrowed against him.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Somehow, it seems, it’s a little easier to talk, when you’re not looking the other person in the eyes.

“All I wanted is for you to know there’s this option, okay?” he goes on. “You’re always welcome at my place. Always.”

She nods, against his chest, and he can feel her taking a deep breath, calming down.

“London is stunning in the Spring,” he tells her, softly.

Frankie sighs deeply, then pushes back from him, drying her eyes on her hands.

“Let me think about it. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course!

She nods back at him, then gazes out into the road. “We’d better head back, now.”

He squeezes her hand before pulling himself up.

“Sure. Let’s go.”


	11. Friday

It's Friday night, and there's a party about to start on Hunter's floor.

Exactly one week ago, Miles had needed to invest a good half an hour advertising the benefits of fresh air in order to convince Frankie to finally leave their brother's room, where she'd been burrowed for days hiding from the world. Things are vastly different now, and Miles realises this as Frankie herself is the one suggesting they all join. Miles and Hunter can't help exchanging a pleased look above her head, but then they quickly smile at her and enthusiastically agree that it's a great idea.

People at the party are super chilled — like students generally are — and don't blink an eye at the siblings' presence. Most of them don't even live in the same building, hence no explanation necessary. The evening brings out a wild side of Hunter that was unknown to Miles, and he feels a quiet sense of contentment as he watches his brother unironically approach beer-pong with levels of drive and competitiveness he normally reserves for multiplayer shooters.

When the group finally heads to a bar, Frankie decides she has had enough socialising for the night, so she and Miles end up staying behind. They climb back up to the terrace, the midnight sky above them, the fresh air welcome after the stale stench of beer downstairs. They sit with their backs against the concrete banister, and Frankie snuggles up to his side.

"Tell me about London… please?" she whispers, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Miles smiles quietly to himself. And then he does.

He starts with the obvious things, the famous ones. The ones even Frankie will probably recognise. So, he tells her about the Southbank, and the breathtaking skyline of the City, and the Borough Market, and all the frolicking life that goes on, hidden underneath the glass towers. How you can travel anywhere with the Tube, and the only cars on the street seem to be the black cabs, scattered in between red double-decker buses. He tells her about the parks, and the squirrels coming to you to be fed, and the children playing in the Serpentine, reminds her how much they loved Kensington Gardens when they went there as kids, one of those Summers they spent in Europe forever ago.

She smiles at the memory, a deep dimple forming into her cheek. "Remember Hunter fell into it? The Serpentine?"

Miles chuckles quietly, staring up at the sky. "How could I forget. Mum was hysterical."

"She had you take off your jumper and give it to him while we ran back to the hotel, even though it looked so comically big on him. Hunter hated every second of it," she recalls, a cheeky grin on her face at the memories. "Dad was laughing the whole time, though, do you remember that?"

Miles smiles a sad smile. "Yeah, I do."

Frankie can probably feel how the atmosphere has shifted, the sudden change in his demeanour, the weight of all those years when their dad didn't seem capable of laughing at all. She scoots closer to him, leaning back into his shoulder. "What else?"

So he tells her about all his favourite places. Camden Town with its crazy shops and Primrose Hill with its stunning views. The food at Brixton Market, and Shoreditch with its hipster cafés, and this hidden garden in Dalston that is just the most beautiful of places. And the underground scene, the art and music and crazy parties you can get in if you know the right crowds. But this is only half of it, the beauty of this city that is so many things all at once, multilayered and multi-faceted. So many people and meanings and histories and lifestories, and a place for each and everyone of them. It's part of the reason Miles fell in love with London, but it's not all of it.

London means so much to Miles, and it's hard to explain it to other people. London is the first place where he's ever felt like his name didn't come before him. Nobody knew him, or his family, or the incredibly stupid things he did as a kid. Nobody would superimpose his father's image on him, be it to undermine his accomplishments or to excuse his mistakes. London is also where he was first able to pursue his dreams, and to build the life he wanted to live — and not what somebody else thought was appropriate.

It's hard to put it into words, but if there's one person in the world who would understand, that person is probably Frankie.

"You can be your own person, in London."

Frankie rises from her spot underneath his arm, just enough to be able to look him in the eyes. She has an unusual expression on her face, oddly mature for someone Miles will always see as his kid sister, no matter what. She holds his gaze and Miles can tell that she sees it. She sees him.

And despite the ugliness of the past few days, and the terrible reason that brought them here together… Miles is grateful for this very moment — sitting on a dirty terrace out in the elements on a chilly winter night, with his sister at his side.


	12. Saturday

It’s crazy to think it’s already the second weekend Miles spends back in Canada. This Saturday he’s on a roadtrip with Hunter, heading to Montreal to gather up Frankie’s things from her apartment. She reassured them Max won’t be home (apparently there’s an out-of-town thing with his family, scheduled months ago, he will be gone all weekend). Yet, Frankie decided to stay back in Kingston. She said she has homework to do, tons of it, and she is falling behind. But of course the real reason is that she’s not ready to be back there, which is understandable.

Despite the reason for the trip, Miles is happy to have this time with Hunter. They’ve spent more time together in the past two weeks that they had in years, but they’ve hardly been alone with each other. Miles lets Hunter drive what is now technically  _ his  _ car, some hardcore music blasting through the speakers while they bump their heads up and down, a grin on their faces at the silliness of it. Hunter’s beating his hands on the steering wheel in a fairly decent replica of the drums track, and Miles mimics him by slapping his open palms on his thighs. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this goofy, which is a strange thought to have right at this moment — driving towards their sister’s abusive ex’s condo — but it’s true nonetheless.

It’s a three-hour drive to Montreal, so they had to leave fairly early in order to make it back at a reasonable time. At around noon they grab a couple of burgers to go from a diner at the edge of town, and half an hour later they’re parking the car along the cobbled streets of Old Montreal.

“Ready to do this?” Miles asks, as they stand on the sidewalk in front of the building’s front door.

“Ready,” Hunter nods, and then without a second thought precedes him inside.

Neither of them has ever been here, which Miles thinks is odd. Obviously, Miles himself was all the way in Europe for most of the time she lived here, but he would have expected Hunter to come by, if anything to help her move in. In hindsight, it’s telling that he never did.

It’s a pretty nice condo, quite spacious, plenty of light coming through the big windows. The furniture has been carefully selected and tastefully placed, and Frankie’s style is perceivable even through the layers of masculine leather and dark woods. The two brothers stand in the living room side by side, a little overwhelmed by the task in front of them.

“Where should we start?” asks Hunter.

“Let’s do the bedroom, get it over with,” Miles suggests. Sooner or later they’ll have to tackle Frankie’s massive closet, so better get started with it and make sure it’s done.

It’s hard — in a way that Miles expected, but still surprises him. Not on a practical level: Frankie is OCD-level tidy, they find everything precisely where she said it would be, so gathering her stuff is really easy. It’s the little things. Seeing all the traces that her life here left behind. All the pictures of her with  _ him _ , perfect portraits of a feigned happiness that got them all fooled. All the little trinkets on her dresser in the same exact place where they’d been in her childhood bedroom, only now they’re in someone else’s home. Her home. 

As Miles browses around the room and through her things, he can clearly picture his sister in this place. He remembers Frankie mentioning she never really felt at home, here, how it was always his condo more than theirs. Still, Miles can’t help but see little traces of her everywhere. 

She has a picture of the three of them on her bedside table. Miles and Hunter and Frankie, on the day of the twins’ high school graduation. They’re right outside the steps of Degrassi, the twins are wearing their gowns and Miles is in between them, one arm on each of them. They all look radiant, smiles brighter than the stars. Miles was just back home after finishing his first year at uni. It feels so much longer than just a year and a half ago. 

“Look, have you seen this?” he shows the picture to Hunter. 

His brother takes it from him, smiling a quiet smile. “Where was it?”

“Just here, by her bed.”

Hunter stares at the picture for a moment longer, then it gives it back to Miles. Miles packs it with the rest of the stuff, and they both resume working without another word.

She has a lot of crap, however well-organised, so it eventually takes them a few trips up and down the stairs to load the car, and at the end of it the backseat is overflowing.

They’ve left the bathroom last. Miles finds a laundry basket hidden in a closet, and they proceed to fill it up with all of her hair and makeup stuff, toiletries and skincare. It is — unsurprisingly, knowing Frankie — a whole lot of stuff.

Hunter seems a little spaced out. He’s standing awkwardly by the sink and Miles notices he’s stopped packing, instead fiddling with one of Frankie’s dark lipsticks in his hands. “Do you think we should leave something behind?” he asks, “Like, a message on the mirror for when he’s back? I bet it’d freak him out.” 

Miles considers it for a moment, revelling in the image of Max coming home to something like that, the look on his face. 

“Nah, let’s not,” he ends up saying, “Let’s just go, okay?” 

Hunter seems a little disappointed. He gives one more longing look to the lipstick before thrusting it back into the make-up bag and zipping it up. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

They drop her keys on the kitchen island, check each room one more time to make sure they picked up everything, and then close the door behind them and leave.


	13. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took 12 chapters but things finally get moving here :)

"Thanks for everything, yeah? I'll see you soon!" Miles pats Hunter's shoulder and steps aside, leaving room for Frankie to say her goodbyes. Frankie leans in and rests her head on Hunter's shoulder, and Hunter wraps her in a tight hug.

The sun is shining over the parking lot but the air is still chilly, even now in the early afternoon. Miles rests his back against Frankie's car and pulls his hoodie closed in front of him, watching his siblings as they struggle to let go of each other. The twins fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

It's been almost two weeks — although it feels more like two months — and finally last night Frankie agreed it's time to go home, to Toronto. Time to leave the safety and comfort she found in Hunter's shadow, time to face their mother, and the outside world, and make decisions about her life and her immediate future.

Frankie eventually pulls back from Hunter's hold, her face full of unspoken emotion but her eyes dry. She nods at him, and he looks straight back at her, and Miles is once again amazed at their effortless silent communication. It used to drive him nuts, when they were little. Now, it just makes him want to smile and hug them both, and never let go.

"I'm ready," says Frankie, turning to him, and Miles nods back.

"Do you want me to drive?" he offers.

Frankie gives him a little grateful smile. She throws him the keys, and Miles catches them easily and slips into the driver's seat, starting the car as she walks around it towards the passenger's side.

"Have a safe trip," Hunter says, leaning towards Miles's open window. Frankie waves at him, and he waves back, and keeps waving at them until they're out of the lot and on the main road.

It's quiet at first. Frankie fumbles with the radio a little, but then changes her mind and switches it off. She leans back into her seat and stares out the window, and Miles doesn't feel like forcing small talk on her.

Over an hour goes by before either of them speaks again. Miles periodically glances towards her to check if she's dozed off, but Frankie is just sitting quietly, her eyes fixed on the landscape outside the window. It's an easy drive, the highway's empty, and Miles coasts at close to speed limit.

"What did you tell Mum?" he suddenly asks her — and for a moment it feels a little odd to hear his voice filling the tight space of the car, after how long they've been sitting in silence.

Frankie turns briefly towards him, but then switches back to the window, leaning her head against her arm and staring at the road ahead.

"That I wanted to come home for Spring Break. She seemed happy about it." A small smile creeps on her face, but it doesn't take long for it to fade. "I haven't even called her, you know? Just texted her. It sounds stupid but I thought she'd be able to tell what was going on if she heard my voice."

Miles sends a quiet look to his sister, curled in her seat, before switching his eyes back to the road.

"It's not stupid," he tells her.

"She doesn't know you're here," she says after a beat, apologetic, "I didn't know how to tell her."

"I'll come up with something."

Her face relaxes and they fall back into comfortable silence. Miles keeps driving, Frankie keeps looking out the window.

"You know, you don't have to tell mum, if you're not ready," he tells her a while later. It's been maybe another hour since their last exchange, and they're fast approaching the familiar skyline of Toronto. Today it works like this, it seems, they're having this one conversation which seems to be stretching out throughout the entire car ride. "I mean it," he adds, glancing at her. "I think you should, clearly, but you don't have to. And I'm here for you either way."

Frankie's mouth twitches at the corner but she doesn't really respond. She just keeps her eyes pointed in front of her, to the road. It's not until a while later, when they're already exiting the 401, that she speaks again.

"I think I'll go see Lola tomorrow."

Miles is flooded with a sense of relief that takes him by surprise, and he breathes out a tension he didn't even know he was carrying, until now.

"I think it's a great idea," he tells her. "Have you called her?"

"Not yet," says Frankie. "I'll do it tonight. I was thinking to ask her if I can stop by the Cantina tomorrow, hopefully she'll be able to take a couple of hours off."

Miles glances briefly at her, a smile on his face.

Fifteen minutes later they're entering their familiar neighbourhood, a palpable sense of nostalgia at the sight of the same houses, and edges, and footpaths they've seen all their life. They turn right at the next corner, and suddenly their childhood home is in front of them.

…

Their mother is smiling as she opens the door, and then her eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected sight of her eldest son standing there.

"Miles! I wasn't expecting you. When did you arrive?" she engulfs him in a hug and then turns to Frankie. "Did you pick him up from the airport, dear?"

"Let's get inside, we'll tell you everything. Would you mind getting us a glass of water, Mum?" Miles distracts her, swiftly pulling Frankie out of her reach. His sister's doing her best to appear unfazed, but her fingers are clasping his arm in a deadly grip.

"Of course, dear," their mum replies with a smile, and then disappears towards the kitchen.

Frankie's face immediately drops, and she raises her eyes towards Miles. Luckily, she also lets go of his arm, which at this point feels a little numb.

"I don't know if I can do this," she says, and her voice is quivering. She's taking deep breaths, and she looks like she's going to lose it any second now.

"Hey," Miles places both hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes, "Of course you can. It's all going to be fine, okay?"

Frankie nods briefly in response, and he circles his arms around her and keeps her against him for a moment. Then he pulls back, squeezing her shoulders one more time.

"You got this," he tells her.

Frankie does her best at giving him a little smile, but she looks far from convinced — a worried wrinkle cutting through her forehead. From the kitchen come the familiar sounds of their mother busying herself preparing their drinks. She will be back any moment, now.

This will be a long evening.


	14. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a few shorter chapters, here's one on the meatier side. A familiar face makes a reappearance, too.  
> Enjoy!

Just before lunch Frankie sets off to see Lola, and Miles is left alone in the house with their mum. They're in the kitchen, his mother unloading the dishwasher and passing the plates and cups on to Miles to put away in the cupboards.

"I still don't get what you're doing in town, I thought you had classes till the end of the month?" she asks, passing on two wine flutes. "Careful. They go on the top shelf, these."

Miles complies, putting the glasses away. "Frankie is coming to stay with me in London for a bit," he tells her, evading her question.

"Oh." His mum seems taken off guard, but it's just a moment, and she recovers quickly. Years of training, next to his father. "Is she staying for Spring Break?" she asks, "It's quite the trip for just a few days, but I guess it's been a while since you two spent some time together."

"She's probably going to stay a little longer than that," says Miles, letting the last part of her statement drop. Then he pauses, and waits for her to put two and two together.

His mother looks at him almost bamboozled. "What about school?" she asks after a beat.

Of course this is her first concern. Not why her daughter suddenly feels the need to put the Atlantic Ocean between herself and her home. Miles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Some things never change, and there's no point expecting them to. His mother means well, for all her faults. And that means something.

"Just… talk to Frankie, tonight, okay?"

Diana starts protesting, "But-"

"It's not my story to tell, Mum." He looks at her, decisive, hoping she'll pick up on that. And she does, Miles can see the exact moment his words register and worry starts spreading all over her face.

"Miles, if there's something I need to know," she starts, but he once again cuts her off, feeling way more tired than he reasonably should.

"Like I said. Talk to Frankie, okay?"

He can only imagine how his mother must feel right now, knowing that something's wrong and that her own son, standing in front of her, wouldn't tell her what. He feels a sudden rush of sympathy for her, constantly excluded from the details of her children's lives by no real fault of her own — just the aftermath of their messy upbringing. He takes two steps in her direction and pulls her into a hug, in an unusual display of affection.

"Don't worry, Mum. I'm taking care of this," he whispers through her hair. Her body relaxes in his arms, and she leans imperceptibly towards his chest.

"Let Frankie come to you, okay? It'll be alright, I promise."

…

After lunch Miles leaves the house with Diana, who drops him off downtown on the way to a hair appointment. She's hosting one of her social engagements at the Country Club today, and she's asked him to run some errands for her. Miles is happy to make himself useful, and also to have a chance to take a stroll downtown — grab a coffee, maybe check one or two of his favourite bookstores on the way.

A couple of hours later he's shuffling out of an Uber pulling up their driveway, a ludicrous amount of dry cleaning bags balanced precariously on his left arm. He struggles for a good minute to put the key into the front door lock, and once finally inside he makes a beeline for his mother's room and drops the load carefully on her bed. He crosses the hallway, then, and steps into the den.

He barely makes it through the doorway, though, before he stops still in his tracks.

His sister's sitting in a corner of the sofa, but that's not what caught his attention. Because next to her — her hair is silver blond, now, and a little longer then when he last saw her — is _Lola_.

"God Miles! You scared the crap out of me. I thought you were Mum!" Frankie screeches, spotting him on the doorway.

Miles dares to take a couple of steps into the room. Frankie has obviously been crying, her face puffy and red, but she also seems... _lighter_ , somehow.

"No, just me," says Miles, folding his arms across his chest. "She's at her Charity dinner. She won't be back for a while."

"Oh, good." Frankie dries her face with her hands, exhaling quietly to steady herself. "Sorry, I'm just a mess. I should go make myself a little more presentable," she says, standing up. She looks towards Lola and slightly bites into her bottom lip. "Do you mind?"

Lola quickly waves dismissively at her. "Of course not, Sweets. Go, we'll be here. Catching up."

His sister smiles, her eyes stopping briefly on him. She leaves the room, then, and soon they hear her footsteps up the stairs.

He and Lola are left alone, and it feels… bizarre.

"Hey," Miles starts, very unoriginally.

He hasn't talked to Lola since the twin's graduation party, over a year and a half ago. That first summer he was back from London he bumped into her a few more times, here and there, but he was busy with an internship at a publishing house and eventually she left with Frankie for their end-of-high-school roadtrip. Then last summer he took an internship in London, instead of Toronto, and by the time he came back in August she was in Argentina with her family — or at least, that's what he gathered from Frankie.

It's a bit surreal now, standing here, in the same room with her.

If Lola feels the awkwardness of the situation, though, she's really good at hiding it. She pulls herself up from her corner of the sofa and walks up to where he's hovering around the doorway, wrapping herself tighter into the oversized cardigan she's wearing.

"She's just told me. God, it's so awful!" she whispers, as if afraid Frankie could hear them from upstairs.

"Yeah, I know."

"I can't believe I had no clue. Did you?"

He shakes his head, a lump in his throat.

"It's so crazy, I can't even imagine. God, I feel so bad for her!"

Miles doesn't really know what to answer to that, so he doesn't. He can easily empathise with Lola's reaction, as he's gone through the exact same thoughts himself when he first got that call from Hunter. It's kind of heartwarming to see Lola so invested, though. She sends a longing look towards the stairs, as if somehow checking on Frankie through the ceiling, and Miles's heart swells. Lola is still exactly as he remembered her, loving, and earnest, and caring. It almost hurts to see.

Miles rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "I'm really glad she called you, today," he blurts out, before he has time to regret it.

Lola returns her attention to him, and their eyes meet for a brief moment. "Yeah, me too."

She eyes him sheepishly for a moment, then drops her gaze to the floor.

"She said you came straight back as soon as it happened," she murmurs, "How are you and Hunter holding up?"

Miles shrugs, a vague grimace on his face. It seems to be answer enough, Lola nods at him understandingly.

They're standing so close and god, this feels so weird. It simultaneously feels like it's been two hundred years since he last talked to her, but it's also as if that time had just disappeared. Because this is just Lola, and she's just as easy to talk to as she always was.

"Can I offer you anything?" he finally says, and he takes a step back from her. "Water, a soda? Hard liqueur?"

He winks at the last suggestion to remark it as a joke, and Lola thankfully smirks at him, rolling her eyes.

"Water would be great, thanks. Wait, I have a glass already here, let me come with you."

They walk back into the kitchen together and she takes a seat down while Miles refills her glass from the carafe. Like this is the most normal thing in the world, the two of them hanging out in his kitchen.

"So, what's the plan now?" asks Lola, accepting the glass he's passing her. "She mentioned she's coming to London with you for a bit?"

Lola sips her water and Miles sits down across from her at the kitchen island. "Yes, well, that's pretty much the plan," says Miles, shaking himself out of whatever weird feeling he's having about Lola being three feet from him. "She's switched to distance learning for two of her classes and dropped out of the rest. She had been taking extra credits anyway, so this shouldn't affect her graduating in time."

"Wow. She really thought this through."

Lola looks vaguely impressed, and Miles shrugs. "Other than that, we don't really have a plan. We'll take it as it goes. She'll come back to sit her exams and then decide what she wants to do at that point." he takes a deep, grounding breath, and sneaks a look towards her. She meets his eyes in kind, and he adds, "I'm just happy she's not going to be alone in Montreal, you know?"

"Yeah, of course. I think it's a good decision."

Miles sighs in relief at her reassurance. "You do? Good, that's good. Sometimes I think I'm being crazy."

"You're definitely not. I think it'll be good for her. How did your mother take it, though? The whole dropping off classes?"

Miles goes quiet, and it's a dead giveaway. "She, uhm... kind of doesn't know yet?"

"Wait, she hasn't told her she's going?!" Lola is staring at him with huge eyes. "Aren't you guys leaving in like two days?"

Miles shakes his head. "She just wasn't ready," he tells her. "I hope she'll talk to her, later, Mum has definitely sensed that something's wrong."

"I bet."

Lola's face falls ever so slightly, and it's obvious to Miles it just dawned on her all over again what exactly Frankie is running away from.

The silence around them is thick, after that, but not uncomfortable. Miles glances over at Lola, playing with a loose thread on her cardigan, right at the edge of the cuff.

"I asked her, you know, if she had called you," he tells her, his voice a low murmur. "A couple of weeks ago, when she first talked to me. But she said she hadn't."

Lola shakes her head, her lips twisting. "I really wish she had. I mean, I would have dropped anything for her, she must know that..."

Miles drops his eyes, unable to face her as he whispers, "Sometimes it's not easy. To reach out."

Lola doesn't say anything, but she reaches across the counter to put a hand on his own. It's warm, and soft. It feels nice.

He's spared from having to find something else to say, though, as just then Frankie stomps down the stairs into the kitchen — her makeup touched up and any trace of her crying gone. Lola quickly retreats her hand and Miles sits straighter, his skin still prickling where Lola just touched him.

"I didn't realise how late it got, Lo, I'm so sorry," Frankie stutters, apologetic, "I'll give you a ride back, okay?"

It's clear to Miles that Lola wants to protest, but then she checks the time herself, and her face twists into a slight frown. "Uhm… yeah, I should probably get going, the dinner rush will be starting soon." She lifts her eyes to look at Frankie. "Are you sure you're okay? I can get someone to cover for me, if you want me to."

"No, it's okay. I have my big brother here baby-sitting me," she says jokingly, elbowing him in the ribs. He tickles her in retaliation, and in the corner of his eyes he can see Lola shaking her head at them, a smile on her face.

"Give me a sec to find my car keys, okay?" Frankie says. "I'll meet you out front."

They hear her stomping around the corridor, and then the sound of the door closing. Miles takes a deep, steadying breath.

"Shall we?" Lola says, and Miles nods back at her, standing up from the stool and walking her back to the living room to collect her things.

They're mostly silent as they cross the hallway back to the front door, but then Lola pauses on the doorway, turning back to face him.

"Despite it all… It's good to see you, Miles," she says, waiting until he looks her in the eyes.

And Miles smiles back at her, a warm feeling that is always there when it comes to Lola, even after all this time.

"Yeah. You too, Lo."


	15. Tuesday

He wakes up way too early for his liking, to banging sounds coming from the next room. The alarm clock informs him it's past 8 a.m., so he forces himself to roll out of bed and into his bathroom, splash some water on his face and put on a t-shirt before crossing the hall to Frankie's room, where all the noise is coming from.

"It's too _early_..." he complains groggily, leaning against her door frame with eyes still half-closed from sleep. His sister's knee deep in a mess of boxes and piles of clothes, willing some kind of order into the chaos of her possessions. Last night they got all of her stuff out of the car, and in the few hours since it has apparently all been regurgitated on her floor.

"Hey, Miles. Morning," she says. He yawns widely in response, so Frankie adds, "There's coffee in the kitchen. Marcela made it."

Miles leaves the room without sparing another word, finds his way down the stairs out of muscle memory and pours himself a cup, smiling contentedly at the first gulp. He then circles back to join his sister once again, finding her pretty much exactly as he left her.

"How's the packing going?" he asks her, taking another swig from his steaming mug. He leans back against the door frame and takes a better look at the mess in front of him. They're leaving tomorrow, and while he only has the one bag he came with, Frankie is a bit stressed about the logistics of her belongings. Even though she left some of her stuff at Hunter's, and packed some more into storage, she's still left with a significant bunch to sort through, trying to pair down what she'll need in the temperamental English weather. He offered to help, last night, but she's quite, uhm… _particular_ about her things, and quickly shooed him out of her room.

"Yeah, it's okay," she says, putting her hands on her hips and taking a look around. Nothing in her room looks _okay_ , to be perfectly honest. "How was your night out?"

Since he'd been so rudely kicked out of his sister's room, yesterday Miles decided to text Grace and Jonah, his only friends from high school who remained local, for an impromptu meet up. None of them drink, so instead of heading to a bar they invited him over to their place. They're sharing a tiny flat downtown, walking distance to both Ryerson and U of T.

"T'was good. Just like old times. We talked school, and theatre, and current creative projects. Then we ordered a late-night pizza and collapsed on the sofa."

"And how's Jonah?"

Miles glances at her, looking for signs that it's a trick question. The two of them didn't break up on the best of terms, back then, and while Frankie doesn't seem to mind Miles kept in touch after high school, he's not quite sure how she feels about him at the moment. He doesn't spot any weirdness from Frankie, though, so he replies honestly.

"He's doing good. He really likes what he's doing for sure, he ended up going on a tangent explaining some sound engineering crap I still have no clue about after hearing him babbling about it for a good half hour. He's still making music with Grace, too. They sent me some tracks, if you want to check them out."

"Good. I'm happy to hear that."

She seems genuine, so Miles doesn't push it. It's been a long time, after all.

Frankie moves a neat pile of tops into an open suitcase, then takes a seat on the edge of her bed and folds her arms across her chest.

"I had a chat with Mum, last night."

Miles's breath catches a little in his throat. "Yeah?"

He leaves his spot in the doorway and steps into her room, then, sits down at her vanity desk and rests his mug on the surface, turning to look properly at her.

"It's been quite hard. I mean, you know me, I cried like a fountain. But I told her, so… she knows now."

He can barely hide a grin at the corner of his lips. He wants to tell her he's proud of her, but he feels he's already way surpassed the level of corny that could be considered acceptable, on this trip, so he just goes for something easier.

"How do you feel about it?"

Frankie sighs, pulling up her legs and crossing them underneath her. She closes her eyes, rubbing her hands over her face.

"I feel better, I think. I'm glad it's all out. I was starting to feel really weird about hiding it from her, like I was sneaking around, you know?"

Miles knows. He's felt the same, these past few days, skirting around questions and constantly lying by omission.

"What did Mum say?"

Frankie pauses, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. "At first, she couldn't believe it. Not that she doubted my story, just– you know, she's met Max. She liked him. He was always oh so charming, when he wanted to — and he definitely wanted to, in front of her. Then she cried. She wanted to know details. Then I cried. I don't think I managed to tell her anything too coherent, but she got the gist of it."

He really is proud of her. Frankie's always been closer to their mother than Miles ever was, but navigating the relationship with their parents is not easy for any of them. Miles knows how much pressure Frankie always puts on herself to be the perfect daughter. Sure, she had her moments of teenage acting out at some point in high school (which to be fair were really not that bad compared to his own — or Hunter's) but once that was over she slipped back into her Good Child role. The one of them their parents don't have to worry about.

Frankie snorts out a laugh, then, rolling her eyes. "Basically, between telling Lola and then telling Mum… yesterday was a hell of a day."

"Yeah, I bet," he sympathises. "Well, look on the bright side: today you can finally spend a relaxing day packing!" he gestures widely at the mess around them, and she smirks and shakes her head at the silly face he's making.

"It's crazy how fast everything is going, though, isn't it?" she adds, her smile faltering a little. "I mean, two days ago we were still at Hunter's. Two weeks ago I lived in Montréal, and now I'm almost all sorted to move to a different country for two months."

Miles sombers down instantly at her words. He stands up from his chair, carefully steps around the piles of stuff on the floor and comes to sit next to her on the bed.

"Hey, you know that if you need more time… I mean, I've been kind of pushing for us to go, but-"

"Oh, no Miles, it's fine. I'm good, really. I'm happy we're going."

"You are?" he checks, just to be sure.

Frankie smiles at him, reassuring. "I promise."

"Good. Because I'm very happy to take you with me, too."

Frankie rolls her eyes at him, a smirk curving her lips. "Okay, Mr. Cheese."

Miles bumps into her shoulder, jokingly. His smile falls quickly, though, and he takes a steadying breath to gather his guts.

"You know, I was thinking… Once we're in London, maybe you'd like to try talking to my therapist? He's a really nice guy, I promise."

Frankie doesn't move to look at him, but she doesn't seem completely hostile to the idea, either. She shakes her head after a beat, scoffing. "What a freakshow of a family we are. Three kids, all in therapy by age 20. Our parents must be so proud!" she says, turning to him with an eloquent expression, eyebrow raised to remark her sarcasm.

He smiles back at her, chuckling. "Yeah, you were their last strand of hope," he answers in kind, "Hunter and I already screwed up centuries ago, you were all they had left."

"They must be devastated!"

Miles snickers under his breath at her exaggerated tone. Nobody ever gives Frankie enough credit for how funny she is, he thinks. Maybe it's because she tends to be so intense all the time, or maybe it's just how pretty she is, who knows. He playfully shoves her side, a knowing grin on his face.

"Welcome to the dark side, li'l sis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, this was the last chapter proper. There's still a short epilogue coming up next, but this is basically where things are at.  
> I'd love to know what you thought!


	16. Epilogue

This time around, Miles falls asleep right during take-off. By the time he wakes up a few hours later they're coasting halfway through the Atlantic, and Frankie is lightly snoring and dribbling all over his shoulder. He rolls his eyes, then gently moves her towards her seat without waking her and retrieves his headphones from the bag at his feet.

Frankie wakes up with a start as the plane lands in Heathrow, which means she's ridiculously groggy through the whole passport control and baggage claim debacle. She practically falls asleep again sitting on her suitcase while Miles dips into a Boots to grab some food for them, and her mood only marginally improves as he comes back brandishing the snacks from the Meal Deals in her face.

It's a strange feeling being back, guiding his sister through this airport he knows so well by now. He feels weirdly at home, hearing snippets of conversations in British accent all around them as they walk across the Terminal and into the Tube station. They don't even need to get tickets, he just pulls out his spare Oyster card from his wallet and hands it over to Frankie, who is engrossed in the intricacies of the TfL map.

"Where are we getting off, you said?" Frankie asks.

"Old Street," Miles says. She's looking at a completely wrong portion of the Tube map, so he points to the right spot. "We have to change lines at King's Cross first, though."

"How long will it take?"

"About an hour, give or take. You tired?"

As if on cue, Frankie raises a hand to cover a yawn. Miles himself can't wait to get home, shower, and crash for a nap. Jet-leg is always so much worse when travelling East.

They end up nibbling at their pre-packaged sandwiches and sharing Frankie's earphones on the journey back. It's only a short walk from Old Street to his place, and soon he's pointing his front door to her. The building he lives in has a grey bricks facade — five-storey high, fairly new. It's one of those blocks of flats with full-length windows and little glass banisters, so you can pretend you have a balcony even though you don't. He carries Frankie's suitcase up the stairs, turns the key in the lock. They're home.

He's missed this place, this past couple of weeks. He's missed London in general, his friends, his routine — but also specifically his flat. It's the first place that's ever been actually _his_. Miles did the whole Student Halls experience his first year, then last year he shared an old Victorian house in Brixton with four of his friends. It was falling down, the bathrooms were mouldy and the corridor was covered in the ugliest carpet ever, but he loved it. It was home. Last summer he finally decided that fuck London rents, he has a trust fund, so he got himself this 1-bedroom place. It's less of a party house, but much better to actually focus on studying.

Frankie walks into the living room with her trolley behind her, taking in each corner of the space. "I like it," she says, "It's very you."

"The bedroom's yours, I'll take the sofa," he says, dropping his bag on the floor by the entrance. She turns on herself, locking eyes with him, and Miles perches on the armrest with a smile. "I promise, you'll love it here."

And Frankie smiles a little smile that reaches all the way to her eyes. And Miles can see a sparkle of excitement in them, and for the first time in weeks he's sure of it.

Everything will be okay.

_..._

_But the ghosts that we knew made us blackened or blue  
But we'll live a long life_

_And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view  
And we'll live a long life_

(Mumford & Sons - Ghosts That We Knew)

_..._

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked this story! It honestly took me like three years to write it, I went through all the phases of loving it and hating it and obsessing over it and re-writing whole chunks of it. If you feel like leaving me some feedback, good or bad, I'd really appreciate it ^^
> 
> I wrote a companion piece to this, a prequel in Frankie's point of view. It's called Pretty Face and I will post it soon, so keep an eye out if that's something you think you'd like to read.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!


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